


By Any Other Name

by EVLane



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, F/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EVLane/pseuds/EVLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Buffy jumps off of Glory’s tower, another slayer on the other side of the county is called; the only problem is that she’s been in a coma for four years. When she does wake, she isn’t sure who she is… she has more than one set of memories, but she isn’t sure if either of them are hers, all she does know is that she has to get to Sunnydale. Post-Gift AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> A/N: I've played with timelines for this story; I needed Buffy's death to call a new slayer, so Faith was called first. Wesley also has returned to the Council instead of joining Angel in LA. You can assume that other than that, canon remains (mostly) the same. 
> 
> Special thanks to my betas JewelsP and kasumi over at Elysian Fields.

** Chapter 1 **

 

The world was ending, but in Sunnydale, when _wasn’t_ there an apocalypse?

But this? This was it.

Buffy wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t, even as she looked out over the portal, knowing that this was _the_ apocalypse for her. For her, this was the end. She would die to save her sister, to save her friends, to save the world, and how could she be bitter about that? She said goodbye to Dawn and tried to let her know how much she loved her… but it seemed cruel that there wasn’t time for more.

She bolted towards the portal, half afraid she’d lose her nerve, and the tower shifted beneath her feet. She wouldn’t fall instead she would jump, swan dive to her death. This was her gift. This was all she had left. Death. The end. She loved them all so much, and this was her gift to them.

She  jumped.

*

On the other side of the country, a slight pale wisp of a girl lay in a hospital bed in long term care.  The room was quiet and empty apart from the three others like her.  There were no visitors, no doctors or any nurses around. It was late and there were no worries about these patients. They were sleeping, had been for a very long time, and would continue to sleep.

And yet…

Life surged into her, for the first time in over four years. Something was housed there now, something that had been missing for a long time. The body twitched, an involuntary reaction to imbued force as the spark began to permeate.  

The mind kick started and she felt like she had dived into darkness. She was falling and there was nothing around her, nothing to hold onto. She kept falling, falling, deeper into the darkness. She could see her hands out in front of her, but nothing else. Sinking, sinking. Nothing.

A flutter of noise and the constant beep, beep, beep of a machine.

A flash, and then, nothing.

*

It was barely 6 AM and the Watcher’s Council was buzzing with activity, men and women rushing back and forth and Kensington wondered, not for the first time, what he had gotten into. Growing up he had thought of the Watcher’s Council as the stronghold against evil, fighting the good fight.

He used to think the Council could do no wrong. How naive. Some of the decisions that were made here chilled him to his bones, and that was to say nothing of the discussions that revolved around slayers. Most Watchers never even met a Chosen One, let alone done anything to help the girls once they’d been called. And a new one had been called.

Buffy Summers was dead. At 9:17 PM Pacific Time she had died while closing a portal to a hell dimension.

Kensington could hear Travers yelling through the thick wooden door to his office, “Find the new one, and find her now! I want all the witches on this!”

Two Watchers raced out of his office, just as quick as you please, brushing past him without a glance.

“KENSINGTON! In here with my tea.”

Travers was angry and  yet gleeful, almost downright giddy at the thought of Buffy Summers’ death. He had never liked the girl, hadn’t liked she was some blond Californian girl with a mind of her own, and he most assuredly had not liked it when she had quit the Council.

Kensington had rather appreciated how the slayer had gotten under his boss’ skin. Buffy was better than her predecessor, Faith Lehane, _now_ that girl had been quite insane, and had ended up in prison. Poor Miss Summers, dead at 20 after spending 5 years as the slayer. She had lasted longer than most of the girls, except, of course, the aforementioned Faith.

He set down Travers’ tea tray gently, “Is there anything else I can get you, sir?” He knew his place here, he knew how to treat this man so as not to get on his bad side, it was just one of the many things he’d not expected to have to learn. God, when had he started this kowtowing?

“Get me the coven from Cleveland on the phone. I need to find our tool before anyone else does.”

Kensington nodded, “Very good, sir. I’ll have them on the phone  in just a moment.”

Tool. Tool indeed.

*

Another waste. How could he possibly raise the Watcher’s Council to greatness when these were the tools he was given? Travers settled back into his chair and wondered what he was being punished for. The Powers must have a morbid sense of humor to do this to him. This girl was the same bad blood as the last slayer.

There was a knock at his door, and then a face, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.

“Come in boy, I haven’t all day,” Travers ordered when the man didn’t say anything. Wyndam-Pryce was a waste, just like the new slayer, why had they asked him to come back to the council? For the life of him, Travers could not remember.

“I’m sending you to the United States to fetch the new slayer.”

The man shifted uncomfortably, “Me?” His voice was more of a squeak. Travers felt badly for his father, to be saddled with _this_ for a son. No matter, he had his uses.

“She’s outside of Philadelphia. Her father has already signed parental rights over to us, you just need to get her and bring her back.”

“Ah. Wonderful. I shall make plans right away.” So eager, so malleable. “Am I to be her Watcher then?”

“If you’d like, though I should warn you, this might not be an easy task. The girl is in a coma,” he said, handing over the file they’d started on her.

Wesley faltered then, “Sir?”

“Go get her and bring her back.”

He would let the junior Wyndam-Pryce deal with this _situation_ for now, and when he failed... well, there were always other options.

*

Wesley checked his watch again. It had been just over 24 hours since Buffy had died. Buffy who had been his slayer once upon a time. Slayers died all the time. Some lasted hours, some weeks, some months, but very few of them lasted years and Buffy had lived five years as the chosen one.

Still, it was hard, losing someone you knew. ‘ _Even if they were petulant slayers_ ,’ he smiled at the thought. He wouldn’t cry, couldn’t cry. He wasn’t some nancy boy. He was a Watcher, and he was lucky to be assigned to a second slayer, even if she was a coma patient.

Wesley paced in the waiting room. The nurses had been unwilling to let him into see the girl, Eleanor Anne Adams. “Family only,” they had said. He had tried to impress upon them that he _was_ family to no avail. He had shoved the paperwork showing he was her legal guardian at them and they had finally sent him to the waiting room with the promise of a doctor coming to speak to him.

He stole another glance at his watch. How long did they indeed to keep him waiting? Wesley was anxious and impatient. But really, what was the rush? That thought deflated him and he sank into one of the chairs in the waiting room and closed his eyes. It really didn’t matter how hard you tried, sometimes the things you wanted and hoped for would always be out of reach. He closed his eyes, his internal clock was all muddled, maybe if he just rested his eyes...

“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce?”

Wesley jumped from the chair and had to adjust his glasses that had fallen askew. A man in a white coat held a clipboard and it took him a moment to realize that he must have fallen asleep while waiting. It had been an exhausting day.

“Uh, yes. You must be one of the doctors assigned to Eleanor?”

The man nodded, “I’m Dr. Rice. I understand you’re a family member?”

“Yes, I’m her uncle. Eleanor’s father has given me custody. I wanted to see her and speak with someone about transferring her.” Wesley handed over the custody documents to the doctor who frowned at them.

“This is highly irregular. Why would he do this?” Dr. Rice asked as he flipped through the papers.

“I’m sure you can understand that this is a _private_ and _delicate_ matter. It was decided that perhaps Eleanor needed to be placed with someone else.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow at that. Reading between the lines, he surmised that this uncle must have been on the mother’s side. Perhaps there had been some sort of a custody battle for the girl. The father never came to visit anyway. Dr. Rice could only remember seeing the man twice in the past four year. He paid the bills, but he left his daughter her to waste away without so much a visit at holidays. He had found it surprising and troubling.  

Perhaps this uncle would do a better job, the girl needed someone who cared, “Even so, I don’t believe it’s a good idea to move Eleanor. Which hospital are you thinking about moving her to? Saint Mary’s is one of the highest rated hospitals in the greater Philadelphia area, I doubt you’ll find better care for your niece elsewhere.”

“The plan is to take her back to England with me.”

Dr. Rice frowned, “Let’s go see Eleanor and we can discuss what is best for her.”

Wesley nodded and followed the doctor down the hall. The walls were white and sterile and the place was uncomfortably quiet. They entered a room  at the end of the hall, and Dr. Rice walked to the back right corner where the girl lay.

Wesley’s first thought was that Eleanor was impossibly thin. She would have been a pretty girl once upon a time with chestnut brown hair and delicate facial features, but now, she looked worn and tired, old and young at the same time. Even if she woke, what kind of slayer could she be? Wesley sank into the chair beside her and took her hand. He trembled and took his glasses off to wipe at his eyes. Poor broken girl. A shell of what she was and would have been.

Dr. Rice coughed and Wesley remembered he wasn’t alone. He placed his glasses back on and looked up at the man.

“Be honest with me, what’s the likelihood that she’ll wake up?”

“The unfortunate reality is that a longer a person is in a coma, the less likely they are to regain consciousness. I’m not telling you that there’s no hope, but, you need to have realistic expectations. You need to be ready to provide long term care for her.”

Wesley nodded and stroked the back of the girl’s hand with his thumb. Why would the Powers make this girl a slayer? Surely they had a plan of some sort. Why choose a girl who was just a sitting duck? Like this, she would make a quick and easy kill for an enterprising vampire.

“Purely anecdotal, but it does seem like patients who have visitors are more likely to regain consciousness. Eleanor hasn’t had many visits in her time. I understand that the accident that placed her here also killed her mother?”

“My sister died in the car accident,” Wesley said and closed his eyes. This was not his niece. It was not his sister who died, and yet, in this moment, it all felt real: the loss, the pain. The story was a lie, but the tears were real. Poor broken girl. What use was it? His slayers always ended up like this, it had to be a bad sign to start their relationship in this way, it didn’t bode well. Nothing in his life seemed to go the way he expected it, or wanted it. Was he crying for himself or her?

The doctor shuffled, feeling like an intruder, “Your paperwork will need to be verified by the hospital administrators, especially if you are serious about moving Eleanor, which I do recommend against. She’s stable here, moving her could cause complications.”

With a deep breath, Wesley said, “I want Eleanor with me, and I cannot stay here.”

“I’ll get started on the paperwork then. We’ll need to make contact with the hospital you’ve chosen in England so we can get Eleanor’s information passed along. This is all going to take some time, maybe even weeks,” he warned.

Wesley reached into his pocket and removed a business card, “I’m staying nearby until this is all gets sorted. I’ll leave when Eleanor leaves.”

The doctor nodded, “We’ll be in touch. In the meantime I’ll let the nurses know you can come and go as you please during visiting hours.”

“Thank you.” Dr. Rice smiled at the man. It was good to see that someone cared, even if it was a strange English uncle.

The doctor left then, leaving Wesley with Eleanor.

He tucked stray hair behind her ears, “Eleanor, I’m Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. You don’t know me, but I’m going to take care of you from now on. We’re going to go to England and hopefully there are some people there who can help you wake up. You need to wake up.”

Wesley felt the tears on his face, “You have to wake up. Travers won’t abide there being two _unusable_ slayers.” He squeezed the girl’s hand. If only sheer force of will made things happen, but that wasn’t the way the world-

The heart rate monitor, which had been beeping steadily in the background, now pulsed. A racing heart.

*

Light flickered and danced on the surface, like a beautifully choreographed dance. Colors and shapes distorted, fell apart and came back together, she had fallen apart too, but now she was back together, just different.

She could hear muffled talking, but she was too deep to hear what they were saying. She was deep below the surface of a vast ocean, and something heavy seemed to be keeping her down. She wasn’t _supposed_ to be here, she needed to reach the surface. If she stayed here, she would drown, drown in the never ending darkness. The threat of being trapped here suddenly felt real, and she pushed towards the light with everything she had.

As she reached the surface, the talking became clearer and she heard two words, _unusable slayer_. Such a strange thing to hear. The words make no sense, and at the same time, they scared her. The words scared her more than drowning in the darkness. The surface, that place she had been fighting so hard to reach, now seemed dangerous.  She let go, and began to sink into darkness. The light and sounds got fuzzier. Maybe it was safer in the darkness?

_Slayer_. Me. Unusable me? She laughed at herself. She was unusable. All used up. Unusable-girl.

“Is that me?” she asked herself. Everything felt fuzzy and disconnected to her. All around her she can feel loose ends, and as much as she wanted to grab hold of them, she was too tired, to scared.

She let go, and sank.

*

Wesley sat in the chair beside Eleanor’s bed reading aloud. He had chosen Jane Austen. First there had been _Sense and Sensibility_ , then _Emma_ , and now he was on _Pride and Prejudice_. He had little knowledge of what an 17-year-old girl would like… or should Eleanor think herself 13 when she woke up? _When_ she woke. Wesley was hopefully, but the spark of hope that he had seen the first time when her heart monitor had raced had not been repeated.

Wesley had taken to spending most of his days here. He read to Eleanor off and on. It made him feel like he was doing something, even if he wasn’t. It was odd how much he had taken to the girl and he wondered if this was how Giles had felt about Buffy.

Marking his place, Wesley closed the book and rubbed his eyes. This whole ordeal was wearisome, and the daily calls with Travers were painful. He wondered how much of what the man said were empty threats, and how much of it were promises. Just last night he had told Wesley, “Wake her up or we’ll need to make sure a new slayer is called.”

Even now, the conversation sent chills down his back. Yes, they needed a slayer to battle the darkness, but what were _they_ if they went around killing helpless girls?

He set the book aside and took one of Eleanor’s hands into his own, “I will do my best to protect you, Eleanor. But I can do that much better if you wake up.”

There was a small tremor then...the smallest of movements. Had it been involuntary? Had she heard him?

“Eleanor?”

“Eleanor, wake up.”

Nothing. It was just his wishful imagination.

Perhaps he needed a night away from the hospital.

*

Wesley was willing to concede that he might be paranoid, but he remembered the joke that just because you’re paranoid didn’t mean that no one was after you. So when he decided to make a phone call to a… well, not old friend, more of an old ally, he did it from a payphone some distance from both the hotel and hospital.

The phone rang three times before someone answered.

“‘lo?”

“Giles?”

“May I ask who is calling?”

“Wesley. Uh, Wyndam-Pryce.”

There was a small snort, “I don’t know that many Wesleys. What can I do for you? Are you in the States? I thought you were in England at headquarters.”

“I, uh, how?”

“Caller ID.”

“Ah. Well, I’m actually on assignment in Pennsylvania at the moment. I was rather hoping you might be able to help, a little research.”

There was a moment of silence, “Isn’t that something you’d call the Council for?”

Wesley cleared his throat, “I need someone outside the Council, I’m afraid. I’m probably being ridiculous, but I cannot shake the feeling that going to them is the wrong course of action.”

“Go on then.”

“I’m sorry to bring this up, knowing… uh… you see…” he stammered.

“Out with it,” Giles ordered.

“Well, yes. I’ve been assigned to the new slayer but she’s in a coma, she’s been in a coma for the past four years and Travers… I’m not sure how much he says is… He’s…”

“He’s made some suggestion about the next course of action if she doesn’t wake up?” Giles voice held no hint of surprise. Was this why he had left the Watcher’s Council?

“Uh, yes.”

Wesley heard Giles take a deep breath and in his mind’s eye, he could imagine the other man wiping his glasses in frustration as was his habit to do.

“I’ll see what I can do on my end. I can pull texts from the Magic Box to see if there is anything. I’m due to leave for England tomorrow. If you give me a call back at this time tomorrow I can fill you in on whatever I find. Otherwise I’ll have to contact you once I land.”

“I’d be grateful for whatever help you can offer. I hadn’t realized you were returning to England… Are you also returning to the Council?”

“I am, but I’m no spy for Travers. I do not believe he and I will ever see eye-to-eye, especially in light of recent events.”

“I’m sorry Giles, about...Buffy. I should have said that right away. I know how much you cared about her.”

“Yes, well,” there was a long pause and then, “Call me at this number same time tomorrow.”

*

Giles set the phone back down and nursed his scotch. He was going to be telling the gang tomorrow that he was leaving, well, in a roundabout manner. He had written his goodbye note, and he’d leave it for them to find. He didn’t want to say goodbye. Not again. They knew he was leaving, had been planning to leave for quite some time.

Moreover, he wasn’t much help anyway. Last night’s debacle had shown him that. The big vampire had nearly throttled him and if it hadn’t been for Spike…

Ah, Spike. Though Giles would never admit it out loud, he had noticed quite a change from him over the summer. He had thought vampires incapable of feelings, but perhaps… his grief seemed real enough. Perhaps his love for Buffy had been real as well.

He had told the gang earlier that they needed the world and underworld to believe that Buffy was alive and well, that they needed the Buffy Bot to do a better job. Spike had said that the bot would never be exactly the same. Tara had added that the only real Buffy was Buffy. It was true, Buffy Bot could never replace Buffy. For now at least, the ‘bot kept the most of the demons in check, not unlike how stories of Santa encouraged children to behave. It was painful, looking at the imposter, but necessary.

Truth be told, Spike wasn’t the only one who got ‘the creeps’ from the bot. Perhaps… perhaps the new slayer, if she woke up, could… Well, not replace Buffy, but at least she could keep the Hellmouth under control.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, special thanks to my betas JewelsP and kasumi. Since I can’t leave well enough alone and keep tweaking things, any remaining mistakes are mine. Some dialog borrowed from the episode “Bargaining (Part 1)”.

**Chapter 2**

 

It was another night in the Summers’ house and Spike was slouched on the sofa beside Dawn. She was nibbling on her pizza while telling him about the adventures of Buffy Bot at the Back-to-School Parent’s Meeting. The teachers had apparently liked the bot, logical thing that it was.

“Makes sense, they responded to the bot because a robot is predictable, boring, perfect teacher’s pet. That’s all schools are, you know, just factories spewing out mindless little automatons…”

Dawn raised an eyebrow at him, as if to ask if he knew what he was saying.

He realized this wasn’t the best conversation to be having with the Bit, so he covered with, “Who go onto be very valuable productive members of society, so you should go. Buffy would want you to go.”

“Check! One mindless automaton coming up!” Dawn retorted with a sigh.

“So where is the bot?” Spiked asked, looking around. The thing unnerved him. He couldn’t stand to be around it, what had he ever been thinking having Warren build it? How could the bot ever begin to compare to Buffy? His actions made him sick and it physically _hurt_ to be around the thing.

“Willow has her charging upstairs,” Dawn said, throwing her crust back into the pizza box, “she says she needs to work on the programing again.”

Spike nodded and walked over to the desk to fetch the deck of cards, “So what’ll it be today? Rummy?”

“Willow and Tara said it was going to be an early night, so you don’t have to stay. I’m fine on my own. I’m not even the key anymore, or even if I am I don’t open anything anymore. It’s over, remember?”

“I’m not leaving you here by yourself. So forget it.”

“I’m just saying-”

Spike slammed the deck of cards down hard onto the coffee table, silencing Dawn, “No! I’m not leaving you to get hurt. Not again.”

_Not like last time. Not like when I got your sister killed._

*

Willow turned the Urn of Osiris over in her hands, “Wow.”

“I found it on eBay!” Anya said excitedly and she recounted how she found it.  Willow held it, feeling sick and excited all at the same time. She felt alive with power.

“It’s the one. It’s time.”

Xander spoke up, “Are you sure?”

“I am. Tomorrow night, we’ll meet back here,” Willow told the group. Xander and Anya exchanged looks and started babbling about waiting and the time not being right. She didn’t have time to deal with this.

“It’s time we stopped talking. Tomorrow night we’re bringing Buffy back,” she paused and looked up at her best friend, “Guys I need you on board now.”

“It just feels wrong,” Xander said walking over to Willow.

Tara piped up, “It is wrong. It goes against all of the rules of nature and it’s practically impossible to do, but it’s what we agreed to. If you guys are changing your minds-”

“No one is changing their minds, period. I can do this, I promise but not without you,” Willow said. She needed them to be a part of the circle, she wasn’t strong enough to hold the power on her own, otherwise...

“Should we maybe tell Giles?” Anya asked, “It’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

“No, one else can know. Not Giles, not Spike, not Dawn. They might not understand.”

“What if something does go wrong?” Tara asked.

Frustrated, Willow said, “I’m telling you it won’t. Buffy didn’t die a natural death, she was killed by mystical energy.” Why wouldn’t they just listen to her?

“Which is why we have a shot,” Tara said, looking at Xander and Anya.

“It means more than that, it means we don’t know where she really  is.”

“We saw her body, Will. We buried it,” Xander said and Anya rubbed his back, comforting her boyfriend.

“Her body, yeah, but her soul? Her essence? That could be somewhere else. She could be trapped in some hell dimensions like Angel was! Suffering eternal torment because she saved us and I’m not going to leave her there! It’s Buffy.”

That was it, that was all it took. Xander looked up at her, “What time do we meet?”

*

It has been nearly two months since Wesley had arrived in the states, and yet the slim girl remained in the coma as she had for the past four years. If being called as the new slayer hadn’t woken her, Wesley wondered if anything would. Perhaps Giles would find something to help, though he was starting to have doubts. It was probably for the best.

Wesley tried to imagine waking up and being told… Eleanor would have a hard enough time coming to grips to with what had happened to her and her mother, let alone the added pressure of being told you were the slayer. It would be too much for anyone to handle, especially someone who had gone to sleep a 13 year old and woken up as 17.

Childhood had slipped by while she slept and being called as the new slayer would keep her from reclaiming that.

Picking up _Pride and Prejudice_ off the side table, Wesley took one of Eleanor’s hands and began to read again. He hadn’t gotten very far when he felt it, the grasp that he had thought he felt days ago. Elation bubbled up inside of him and he stood quickly, the book falling forgotten on the floor.

“Nurse! Nurse!” Wesley yelled, and moved to yell down the hall, but he couldn’t. The grasp on his hand tightened and wouldn’t let go. She was squeezing his hand! He yelled again, monitors going haywire in the background.

A nurse rushed into the room, two others following right behind her, “Sir, please step away.”

Wesley tried, once again, to detach from the girl, but she held tight.

*

Giles watched Anya’s retreating back. He was in the back of the Magic Box training with the Buffy Bot, not that it was getting much of a workout, but he sure was, working with a machine that never got tired, never needed to breath…

“Perhaps Anya is right, I am trying to teach you as if you were a-”

“Human?” the Buffy Bot supplied helpfully.

“Yes,” Giles said and walked over to the water bottles.

“I like your teachings. Every slayer needs her Watcher,” it recited.

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. I just can’t help but wonder if she would have been better off without me,” Giles said.

“I don’t think that’s true. You were very helpful to her,” the Buffy Bot said.

Giles laughed disparagingly, “Right, I was a perfect Watcher. I did what any good Watcher would do. I got my slayer killed in the line of duty.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” the bot argued.

“Of course not, that’s just how all slayer/watcher relationships end. She’s gone. I did my job.”

“Then why are you still here?”

Why indeed. He would slip the note under the cash register where Anya would find it, hopefully when he was long gone. He wasn’t needed here and the last thing he wanted to do was get another one of these children hurt.

*

The group was circled around Buffy’s grave. It was nearly midnight and Anya was lighting the candles. Willow poured the _milk of the mother_ unto the Urn of Osiris. This would work, _it had to work_. They needed Buffy, the group couldn’t keep the Hellmouth safe forever, and no matter how much she tinkered with the programing the Buffy Bot just wasn’t good enough.

“Osiris, keeper of the gate. Master of the fate, hear us,” she said and spread the blood onto her forehead and cheeks, “Before time and after. Before knowing and nothing. Accept our offering. Know our prayer.”

Willow could feel the beginning tendrils of magic flow through her. Strength and power. It grabbed her and she could feel lacerations form on her forearms. Magic curled through her, filling up all the empty spaces, she had never felt so full, so complete. She could smell and hear everything for miles. Xander and Tara were talking, but she didn’t focus on them, they didn’t matter, they weren’t important.

“Osiris, here lies the warrior of the people, let her cross over,” she continued and something _else_ , something darker, crawled through her, leaving trails of its essence behind. She coughed, gagged, then fell on her hands and knees as something slithered up her throat. A snake tumbled out of her mouth and onto the grave.

The power lifted her higher and higher, reached a crescendo and then… _nothing_ , the magic just fizzled out.

“No!” Willow screamed as the energy began to dissipate. Her body shook from effort, she had been full of power and magic and then nothing. _Nothing._ There was nothing to pull into Buffy’s body. Osiris couldn’t reach her, wherever she was. Buffy was gone.

“She’s not there,” she whispered, “She’s not where she’s supposed to be.”

*

Wesley knew it was late in England, but the news is too big not to share immediately. It was Kensington who answered the phone, but he was transferred to Travers instantly.

“What?”

“She’s awake,” Wesley said in a rush, excited.

There was a moment of silence, and then Travers said, “Bring the girl to headquarters as soon as possible. I’ll have a passport created for her.”

“Of course, sir! I’ll-” he stopped when he heard the dial tone.

*

Wesley walked from the payphone back to Eleanor’s room. Nurses were flitting in and out as the girl lay, almost boneless on the bed. He stood back and watched them work, measuring her blood pressure, breathing, heart rate. The girl must have felt like a pincushion with all the blood they had taken.

He heard a nurse whisper miracle. Internally, Wesley wondered. He believed in a higher power and he felt as this was just the beginning. Of what, he wasn’t sure, but the feeling was there, clear and strong.

His eyes moved over the slayer, when he reached her face, he noticed that she was staring at him. Calm steel gray eyes caught his and then the girl smiled, her lips turning up just a hint, before she closed her eyes.

The doctor he had spoken to ages ago, Dr. Rice, Wesley thought, stepped in front of him, obscuring his view, “We’ll give you some time with your niece in a moment, but then I’ll have to ask you to not stay long. As you can imagine, there are a lot of tests we’d like to do, and we will also be moving Eleanor into another room.”

“Of course,” Wesley said with a nod.

“But preliminary tests look good, great even. I’ve never seen anything quite like this.”

“Eleanor is something special.”

It wasn’t too much longer before they left Wesley and the girl alone. Away from prying eyes and ears he took his normal seat beside her and one of her hands in his.

“It’s nice to see you awake, Eleanor.”

“Wes,” she said, her voice hoarse.

Her words surprised him, she knew his name? But his mind caught up quickly, a nurse must have said something to the girl.

He nodded and wondered what she had heard or been told by the nurses. His ruse that he was family could easily collapse if Eleanor called him an imposter. How likely would it be that she would have an uncle that she didn’t know?

“I’m your Uncle Wesley. Do you know what’s happening?”

Eleanor tilted her shoulders upward  in a gesture of maybe and then croaked out, “Slayer.”

Wesley’s eyes shot up, “How?” That was not something she would have overheard from one of the nurses. Had she heard him one of the times when he spoke to her? The girl gave him a small smile.

With a squeeze of her hand, Wesley spoke, “We will leave for England once you are well enough to travel.” She nodded again. He wanted to ask so many questions, but with Eleanor barely able to speak, it would have to wait.

He cleared his throat, “I’ve been reading to you, we are about halfway through _Pride and Prejudice_ , would you like me to read to you? I can’t stay long, but I’m here until they kick me out.” With a nod of agreement from Eleanor, Wesley began, her hand still held tightly in his. She was not his niece, not really, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like she was his. His niece, his slayer, his.

*

Wesley’s voice washed over her, it was calm and steady. She closed her eyes and he stopped, so she gave his hand a little squeeze, reassuring him that she was still listening.

He continued on then and it gave her time to think, and she had a lot to think about.

She had a lot in her mind, two lives worth of thoughts, dreams, experiences, memories... Eleanor’s memories, and Buffy’s memories. It was odd though, there were no _feelings_ , no _emotions_ attached to either set of memories. She could recall, in great detail, the lives of both girls, but it was empty and disconnected, like she had watched both lives on a television.

Buffy was dead and Eleanor had been in a deadly car crash. Buffy’s and Eleanor’s mothers were both dead. Both had practically non-existent fathers, she had no clear memories of Eleanor’s father, aside from seeing him once, when she was very, very young and her mother had never talked about him, wouldn’t even tell Eleanor his name.

Everyone kept calling her Eleanor, but she didn’t _feel_ like Eleanor, but she didn’t exactly feel like Buffy either. This was Eleanor’s body though, of that she was sure. But… If she was neither girl, was she someone new? Was she born the moment she awoke? The moment of Eleanor’s crash? The moment Buffy died?

And Dawn… something seized in her chest, what had happened to Dawn? And Glory? Well, the world was obviously still here, so the apocalypse had been averted, but… she would have to figure out what had happened to Dawn and her friends. Wait. _Her_ friends? Or Buffy’s friends? Did it matter?

But Dawn, oh, Dawn.

The heart monitor chirped alarmingly and Wesley stopped reading. She opened her eyes and Wesley was there, looking worried, “Are you okay?”

No. No she wasn’t. She shook her head no.

Wesley nodded, “I’m sure it’s been a stressful day. Perhaps you need to get some rest.”

She nodded and stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, special thanks to my betas JewelsP and kasumi. Since I can’t leave well enough alone and keep tweaking things, any remaining mistakes are mine.

Wesley watched as Eleanor worked with the hospital’s physical therapist. It had been over a month since she had woken up, and she had been doing better, better than expected even, at regaining control of her muscles, slayer healing, he assumed. She could talk more than a syllable at a time now too, not that she did. The girl seemed to be keeping her own council, and while Wesley speculated it had something to do with her mother’s death, Eleanor did not say one way or the other. She had thanked him though, when he’d handed her a journal.

“You have to talk to someone, even if it’s just on paper.”

The doctors had finally given Eleanor the OK to travel. They were due to leave in three days. Wesley watched his slayer on the machines, pushing her limits. She was impressive, nothing seemed to stun her. Not even her destiny. He had expected her to rebel against it, deny it, but she just smiled cryptically like she always did and said, “Not even dying releases you from destiny.”

Wesley had thought it a rather odd thing to say, but he supposed she was right, Faith had died for a few moments during a fight where she had drowned before being resuscitated. It had caused Buffy to be called as the new slayer, but Faith was also still a slayer. Eleanor hadn’t died though, so Wesley couldn’t figure out why she said it. There was a lot he couldn’t figure out about the girl.

Overall, Eleanor had been surprisingly _not_ curious. She didn’t ask questions or challenge him at all. She took everything in stride with that sad smile of hers. Wesley had explained that she had been chosen as the slayer, and while he wasn’t really her uncle, he was her Watcher and that he would look out for her. Eleanor had just nodded, and said, “Okay.”

The only thing she had been even remotely curious about had been Buffy. She had asked how she died and what had happened to her sister.

Eleanor didn’t talk much, but over and over again Wesley found himself surprised at the things she shouldn’t know, but did. “How did you know Buffy had a sister?”

The girl hadn’t answered, only repeated her question, “Someone is taking care of her, right? She has no one right now. It’s hard to have no one.”

Wesley had put a hand on her back, the girl must be referring to her own mother, “I believe her friends have taken custody of the girl.”

Not  for the first time since laying eyes on this girl, Wesley had gotten the feeling there was much more to her. Although her mental maturity should be that of a 13 year old, she acted like someone far, far older. What 13 year old considers the consequences of their actions?  

A thought tingled at the back of Wesley’s brain, “This isn’t a 13 year old girl.” It was silly, of course, not the sort of thing he’d say to anyone else. He argued with himself internally, Eleanor had been through a lot, she had lost her mother, had no other family connections, and she had been in a coma for four years, of course she wasn’t acting like a 13 year old.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was not as it seemed with Eleanor, not that he said such to anyone. Was he keeping his speculation to himself, because it was a silly notion or because he no longer knew what kind of a man Travers was?

If only there was someone he could trust…Giles, of course. He hadn’t spoken to the other man since the day before Eleanor had woken, but he was sure Giles would have heard the news from someone else within the Council.

Wesley nodded to himself; he would speak to Giles once they arrived in England.

*

They were sitting on the runway, their plane waiting for its turn to take to the sky. Wesley looked over at Eleanor, who currently had a death grip on her armrests, her eyes were closed tightly, and she was taking long deep breaths.

“Not a fan of flying?” Wesley asked jovially. Eleanor showed so little, it was rather amusing to see her effected by something for once.

She cracked an eye open and scowled, “Planes and I are non-mixy. And cars for that matter. Cars and I are very non-mixy.”

_Oh._ She had seemed fine in the taxi ride to the airport that Wesley hadn’t given any thought to how she might react on a plane. It made sense, considering what had happened last time she had been in a car.

“It is best not to think about those sorts of things. Maybe it would be better if we spoke to distract you.”

She scoffed, “I don’t think you can distract me from the fact we are about to be _very_ high in the air. The last time I was…”

“The last time you were what?” Wesley prompted. She was forever doing this, starting sentences then just trailing off; it was highly irritating.

“I fell,” she said simply, “I had a bad fall and I suddenly remembered I am now terrified of heights.”

This wasn’t about her mother then, it was something else, “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No.”

Wesley shifted in his seat and the plane lurched forward, turning to start down the runway. Eleanor’s left hand moved from the armrest and grabbed his, “The Powers, they wouldn’t go through all the trouble to… to get me here if they were going to let the plane fall, would they?”

“I rather think not. You haven’t mentioned the Powers before, do you have a strong faith in God?”

“I know there’s something bigger out there than me pulling strings. They have plans for me,” she said, then added, “and for you as well, Wesley.” He had been looking out the window (Eleanor had stoutly refused the window seat) but he turned and looked at the girl now. She was looking at him with those calm gray eyes. What did she know?

The engine roared to life, and they began to race down the runway and then the feel of the road below them disappeared, and they were in the air. Eleanor’s grasp on his hand lessened and Wesley gave her a pat, “Relax, it’s going to be a long flight.”

“I know. Then the Council, is that why you cleaned up?” she asked with a smirk.

Wesley stroked his now clean shaven chin. In the weeks since his departure from England, he had let himself go a little. “The stubble wasn’t appropriate.”

“It was a good look for you,” Eleanor teased.

“So I have been told,” he said succinctly.

“Oh yeah? Do tell.”

“I met someone, during my rogue demon hunting days, before I rejoined the council. She liked my _scruff_ ,as she called it.”

Eleanor smiled, “And where is this mysterious girlfriend of yours?”

He didn’t answer, but turned his eyes to the window where the world was falling away as they rose into the clouds. The houses and roads below were so small and insignificant. His heart hammered in his chest, but he felt strangely calm and detached. He was not the man he once was.

“Wesley?”

He turned back to his charge, “She’s dead.”

Sarah and their unborn child were dead. When the council had called and asked him back, it had been easy to say yes. His folly had come with a high cost. It had been time to stop acting like a child and come home.

*

Although it was still early, by the time they arrived at Council headquarters it was dark, the short days of late fall were already upon them. The Watcher’s Council was situated in a popular part of London’s business district. The tall building had as many floors below ground as it did above. Some of the deepest levels housed dangerous books, dark scrolls, and other unseemly items.

Eleanor was straining to look out of the taxi, her head zipping back and forth.

“Wow,” she whispered as they stopped in front of headquarters, “This isn’t what I imagined. I always thought the Watcher’s Council would be in some castle out in the middle of nowhere.”

Wesley smiled, “A central location is best. The majority of the building houses offices, libraries, and the like. The upper most floors are set up as training and living quarters for slayers and local potentials we’ve identified.” They climbed out of the taxi while the driver pulled their luggage from the trunk, or _boot_ , as he had called it.

Eleanor followed Wesley into the lobby, her small backpack holding all her worldly possessions, or Eleanor’s. It was way too confusing not knowing who you were, how was she even to know what pronoun to use? The lobby was grandiose with dark hardwood floors, high ceilings, big windows, and lush burgundy velvet furnishing.

An older woman with a tight bun of white hair was sitting at a grand desk, “Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, we’ve been expecting you. The slayer’s quarters have been prepared on the 14th floor.” She handed over a key ring with a few old fashioned brass keys on it.  

“Thank you, Mrs. Whitt. Could you let Travers know that I will be down to speak with him once I get Eleanor settled?”

She nodded, “He’s waiting for you.”

“Yes, of course,” Wesley said, wiping his palms against his jacket then turned to lead Eleanor down the hall to the elevators.

Once they exited on the 14th floor they entered the first door to the right. The living quarters were modest with charming vintage details. There was a small bedroom,  adequate kitchen stocked with food, and substantial living room.  

Eleanor smiled, it was lovely, and it was hers, at least for now.

“Can you think of anything you might need?” Wesley asked.

She held up her backpack, “Clothes. I have a few pairs of sweats and t-shirts, that the hospital gave me, but I pretty much have nothing, and no money. Is there any way I can get paid, some kind of stipend, for the slaying gig?”

“I’ll speak to Travers, as for clothes we can remedy that tomorrow. There is a good bit of shopping downtown. There is also a training room two floors down if feel you up to it, and there is a copy of the slayer manual on the bedroom desk. I will come by tomorrow afternoon and in the meantime I’ll let you get acclimated, jet lag can be terrible sometimes.”

“Sounds good, Uncle Wes,” Eleanor said with a smile. Her Watcher had been melancholy for most of the flight, but his mood had seemed to improve once they landed. She wanted to ask him more about this mysterious girlfriend, but he had looked so sad, that she thought it best to leave the subject alone.

Wesley scowled, he had told her to stop calling him that, but she delighted in teasing him. He shook his head, “Goodnight, Eleanor.”

“Night!”

*

Once Wesley had left, the slayer flopped down on the bed. The last few weeks had been exhausting. It was hard having a body that didn’t work the way you expected it to. Often she would move or try to lift something and had been surprised at how hard everything was. The physical therapist she had been working with back in Philly had been impressed with how hard she had pushed herself. She didn’t want to be weak, she wanted to be strong again. Luckily for her, the slayer powers worked in her favor, and she felt almost like a normal girl, not a slayer, not yet, but soon.

She also hadn’t gotten a single decent night’s sleep since she had woken, ironically. Every night she dreamed she was on Glory’s tower and every night Spike saved her somehow... by stopping Glory or Doc sooner or by keeping Dawn from getting hurt in the first place. Each night was different and yet the same, it was like that movie _Groundhog Day_ , where the guy was just stuck living the same day over and over. Except each night, she didn’t die, she got to live. Spike saved her. The soulless bleacher wonder… And she could see in his eyes the depth of feelings he had for _her_ , for Buffy.

Maybe it would be easier if she knew what it meant, or if she knew who she was… and that was the million dollar question. In the moments right when she woke up, when the residue of her dreams were falling away, she knew, she _knew_ she was Buffy. Her mind was treacherous though, and about that time, she would realize, she wasn’t Buffy. Not really. At least, not completely. There was no denying if she was Buffy, she was a different Buffy than the one that had jumped.

She wondered if there was someone she could get in contact with in Sunnydale to see what was going on… of course who would she call? And what would she say? Wesley had assured her that Dawn was being taken care of, but she wanted to hear that for herself.

She could call Willy… at the very least he could fill her in on Spike.

“I know you’ll never love me. I know I’m a monster, but you treat me like a man,” she recited, thinking about the last time… the last time Buffy had talked to him, before the fight with Glory. She felt something wet on her cheeks and realized she was crying. Her heart ached for Spike, how terrible it must be for him to have lost Buffy, the women he loved. Buffy had always been doubtful that Spike could really love, but _she_ , whoever _she_ was now, was sure that Spike’s love was real. She wondered if Spike kept his promise to take care of Dawn.

She wiped her face; she would have to find a way to ditch Wesley at some point to make the call. She would also need to figure out a way to get some money. Money. Urg. Having nothing and no one was irritating. Hopefully Wesley would figure out how to get the Council to pay her a stipend. They hadn’t paid Buffy, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask, and the situation was different.

She reached down for her bag and put the few items she did have away in the drawers. On the bright side, owning nothing meant she had nothing to unpack. She wondered what happened to all of Eleanor’s things, they were Eleanor’s, not hers.

_I worry about Buffy’s friends and Dawn. I want to know what’s happening in Sunnydale. I don’t care about what happened to Eleanor’s things or Eleanor’s friends. Does that mean I’m Buffy? Does it mean I’m_ not _Eleanor?_

She rubbed her head, she was giving herself a headache. Dawn. Dawn seemed to be the only thing that truly stuck out, that truly mattered, regardless of who she was or wasn’t.

She walked over to the desk, the slayer manual laying there. Going through the drawers, she found a pen and some paper and began to write a note to Dawn. She would make it sound like Buffy had written it “in case”. Giles when he got back to England then could have mailed it off to Sunnydale. _Completely plausible,_ she told herself.

Once her letter was complete, she tucked into an envelope. She addressed the envelope and then  looked at it, and realized, the handwriting was hers, and it looked like Buffy’s. She smiled, it might not mean anything, but, it might mean everything. She set it aside and climbed into bed, feeling better than she had in a while.

If she was Buffy, then she didn’t belong here. She belonged in Sunnydale.

*

Wesley was standing in front of Travers’ desk, as the man had not given him leave to sit.

“So, give it to me straight, are we going to have trouble with this one?”

“I do not believe so. Eleanor accepted her destiny without question. There were several occasions when I visited that I would find her reading the slayer manual.” Travers frowned, which struck Wesley as odd, wasn’t this all good news?

“Have you noticed anything odd about her? Why would the powers call a girl who was in a coma? And one so old? It’s been decades since a slayer over 15 was called, and this one is nearly 18! We’ll have to start making plans for the cruciamentum.”

“Cruciamentum? She’s… she hasn’t even begun her training, she’s been going through rehabilitation.”

Travers shot him a glare, “Every slayer that reaches her 18th birthday goes through it. You have time to get her ready. In the meantime we’ll be able to see what kind of a slayer we got saddled with.”

Wesley clenched his jaw, “Of course. I will have her ready, in the meantime, she asked if it possible to give her a stipend to allow her to purchase clothes and the like? She has nothing and no one to finance her.”

“What are her other demands?”

“It’s the only thing she’s asked for.”

Travers dismissed him with a hand gesture, “Fine, talk to Kensington.”

*

With the unpleasantness of Travers out of the way, Wesley found his way to Giles’ office. The man’s door was open, so he walked in and was greeted with a smile.

Giles’ motioned to a chair, “Sit! Let’s talk. How are things with Eleanor?” He walked over behind his desk and poured scotch into two glasses.

“Shall we toast?”

Wesley laughed, “To the Powers, may they know what they are doing?”

“Good enough for me,” Giles said, and they clinked their glasses together and drank to it.

After a moment, Wesley said, “Eleanor is doing well, surprisingly well. She’s taken everything in stride. I expected her to rebel against her destiny, to call me a liar, but she just smiles and says ‘Okay’ as if it’s all normal.”

“Buffy wasn’t like that at all. She always wanted to be normal, it took time for her to accept that there was no getting out of her duty… and in the end… well, she did her duty, didn’t she?”

Wesley raised his glass, “To Buffy?”

Giles knocked his glass to his, “To Buffy.”

The pair were quiet then; slayers always died in the line of duty, and her watcher was always left behind. They had both worked with Buffy, and both had come to realize that in spite of her valley girl attitude and appearance, she had been a stellar slayer. They reminisced over stories of how she managed to get herself _in_ and _out_ of so much trouble.  

“So what’s bothering you Wesley?” Giles finally asked.

“I am worried that Eleanor is not as she appears. It seems odd that the Power would select a girl in a coma and aside from the accident report and the scant amount of information I’ve been able to pull up on her mother’s death… there’s very little out there about Eleanor. She had no family, no ties to the world and she’s been _too_ accepting of her new life. She knew my name when she first woke up, at the time I rationalized that it was because she heard someone else say my name, but...She doesn’t act like a 13 year old.”

“For good reason, she’s 17, not 13. Even if she doesn’t have any memories from the past four year, the brain chemistry of a 13 year old to a 17 year old is quite different.”

“Even so, she seems aloof and sad. She acts like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Giles pointed out.

“Yes, but what girl would wake up and just accept it?” Wesley argued.

“What other option does she have? Like you said, she has no family, no friends, no ties, just you.”

“I know, but… I just… Wouldn’t Eleanor have questions about what happened? She hasn’t even once asked about her parents. Her mother is dead, and yet she doesn’t mourn her at all. She hasn’t asked why I have custody of her and what happened to her father. I cannot find a single thing about her father!”

“Travers was able to get custody of the girl, there has to be some paper trail,” Giles pointed out.

“The hospital bills were paid out of a trust that doesn’t connect back to anyone except a law firm out in California, perhaps they’re the ones who brokered the transfer of custody. Eleanor seemed much more concerned with the sister that Buffy left behind than anything else. I’ve never seen a teenage girl so stoic.”

“What do you think is going on then? Since you seem to have so many doubts.”

“I don’t think she’s the same girl who went into the coma.”

“Then who is she?” Giles asked.

“That’s what I need to know,” Wesley replied.

“I’ll see what I can dig up on her background, but maybe she is just dealing with everything by keeping herself aloof from it. Not everyone grieves the same way.”

“Maybe,” Wesley said, but his tone implied that he didn’t agree.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, special thanks to my betas JewelsP and kasumi. Since I can’t leave well enough alone and keep tweaking things, any remaining mistakes are mine.

**Chapter 4**

Two months had passed since she first arrived at Council Headquarters and life here had been surprisingly simple. A part of her understood now why the Council didn’t want their slayers to have families or any life outside of slaying, it complicated things. Life here was not complicated, each day was the same: wake, train, lift, study, patrol, sleep, and dream.

She was good at it all too. She enjoyed the training and the lifting, and found a propensity for studying and researching that she had never had before as either Buffy _or_ Eleanor. It was like she had been built for this life, for slaying. She even enjoyed it.

Currently, she was in the training room with Wesley.

“Stop dropping your shoulder!” he yelled, frustrated at having to say the same thing over and over, but she just smiled. She was having fun. Buffy had always treated training like a chore, but since her only concern in the world was training and getting stronger, it was where she found enjoyment.

Her muscles had atrophied during her coma but her strength had come back and then some. Buffy had been appalled when Faith talked how she enjoyed slaying. Buffy hadn’t understood it, but _she_ did. She wanted to be good at this, to be strong. It was all she had.

Nothing made sense, and her only sense of identity was slaying. She had no idea if she was Eleanor, or Buffy, but she knew she was the slayer.

“Excellent,” Wesley said after they finished, “You’ve made amazing progress in such a short time, if I didn’t know better I would have thought you had been training for years.”

Eleanor turned away, trying to keep her smile from showing, “I did take years of ballet. Maybe it’s something left over from that? Discipline, training and _all that rot_.” The last bit she said in a terrible British accent.

“You never mentioned the ballet before,” he said and tossed a towel at her.

She mopped her face then looped the towel around her neck, “I was really good. I was with a company in Philadelphia. I went on all sorts of trips across the US. It’s what I wanted to do with my life. My mom was a professional ballet dancer before she had me.” It felt weird, talking about Eleanor’s life as though it were her own.

“And now? Do you still want to dance?”

“Slayers don’t have lives and they don’t live very long,” she said coldly, all joy at the memory had drained right out of her. His question made her angry, even if ballet was still her passion, would the Council let her pursue it? No. So why had he even bothered asking?

“So, we going out patrolling tonight?”

Wesley didn’t answer right away, so she turned to look at him. His face was blank, guarded.

Finally, he said, “Early patrol, then we need to try a new meditation technique.”

Cruciamentum then, was it getting close to her birthday already?

*

Wesley made his way to Giles office where the man was waiting. He enter and closed the door behind him, “So, what did you think?”

He had asked Giles to watch their training session this afternoon.

“Her progress is astounding. She has excellent form overall, except she kept dropping her shoulder. Buffy did that all the time. I never did get her to stop. In fact, her style is very reminiscent of Buffy’s…” Giles trailed off at the thought of his slayer.

“Have you managed to dig up anything else on Eleanor? Not sure if it’ll help, but it sounds like she may have danced ballet professionally. She mentioned traveling the states performing.”

“I haven’t found much. I must say, it’s almost as if the Powers just dropped her into that hospital. I found some evidence that her father is alive, but you were correct, the trail of the trust ends with the lawyers. Eleanor’s birth certificate just lists her mother, and her mother was unmarried. It’s like her father didn’t want to have any ties to her.”

“Should we be worried?”

“I’m not sure yet. I don’t see anything malicious in her, but her circumstances… Do you trust her?”

“She’s keeping secrets, but she’s a teenage girl, that’s what they do.”

*

Wesley had gone with Eleanor on patrol in one of the newer graveyards in the city. When they first started going out, he had taken them to the older cemeteries where there were far fewer fresh burials to rise as vampires. There his new slayer hadn’t run into as much trouble, but she had proved herself time and time again so they had moved into more difficult areas.

Eleanor was currently sitting on top of a headstone, swinging her legs back and forth while she watched two new graves.

“Vampires do not rise from every grave,” he told her. To be honest, he was a little bored with waiting and the… disgusting task he had for them later was weighing heavily.

“Trust me, they’re both going to rise.”

“You cannot possibly know that.”

She smiled, and pulled a second stake from her waistband so that she had one in each hand. Several moments passed and she hopped down.

“Eleanor, we really should be-” Wesley stopped as hands began to push through the dirt. Eleanor looked back and him and winked.

The vampire on the left was out of the grave first and Eleanor had dusted him before the second one was even clear of the earth. She twirled and took the second one down with a well-placed kick. The creature stumbled back and she was on him in an instant, thrusting the stake into his chest.

_She took both of them out with the ease and practice of someone who has done this before_ , Wesley thought to himself. He had seen her stake vampires before, of course, but two at once, without a grain of nervousness?

_In the hospital she made some comment about not even death would release her from her destiny… could she be a slayer, returned? Brought back from the grave?_ The thought felt perfect, and the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Her knowledge, her skills, her acceptance of her destiny. A reincarnated slayer.

Wesley looked up to see that Eleanor had continued down the path and was tussling with another fledgling. For a moment he thought this one might be giving her some trouble, but then he realized, _she’s just playing with him._

*

The walk back to headquarters was quiet. Wesley was normally chatty, asking all sorts of questions, but this time, he left her to her thoughts.

The slaying, the killing, she felt _real_ during the nights. The training had charged her, but this, she smiled, _this_ was good. Not that tonight had been a challenge, but it was better than going an entire night and only facing one fledgling.

_Is this why the Powers brought me back?_ A tool to kill. A tool to the Council. Perhaps even a tool to Wesley.

_I wish I mattered because of who I am, not what I am. But who am I?_ _Am I Buffy, or am I her memories? Does  having Buffy’s memories, make me Buffy? Do I have Buffy’s soul, or Eleanor’s? I don’t feel like Eleanor, but is that because of some kind of slayer magic? All Buffy’s memories downloaded into Eleanor? I wish I could ask Willow for help, or Tara, or Giles…_

Although she hadn’t seen him, she knew Giles was back with the Watcher’s Council, and she knew he had an office somewhere in the building. She could seek him and out talk to him. She glanced over at Wesley. She wished she could talk to him, but he didn’t know Buffy like Giles did.

*

When they reached headquarters, Wesley followed Eleanor up to section of the training room where tables were set up for research. He sat the crystal in front of Eleanor for the meditation. _The poisoning._

“You did a good job tonight, Eleanor. I’m proud of you. You have made remarkable progress and you’ve taken everything in surprisingly well.”

She shrugged, “This is all I have, being the slayer, I might as well be the best I can be.”

“You won’t always live here. Once you’re training is complete we’ll be sent somewhere and maybe… you mentioned ballet… perhaps you could…”

Eleanor put a hand on Wesley’s arm, “That’s sweet of you to say, but neither of us believe that there will be anything in my life aside from slaying.”

Wesley put his hand on hers, “Eleanor…”

She shook her head, “Just tell me what this meditation technique is.”

*

Wesley felt sick as he made his way to Giles. He stopped in the hallway, sure he was about to be ill. His body shook and he sank down to the floor. He felt as though he was betraying his slayer, and he was so sure that she _knew_ what he was going to do and _she_ was letting him. That made it even worse. And her voice… the sound of her voice when she said that slaying was all it would be. The guilt he felt now was unbearable. He was disgusted with himself.

He let himself cry. But was he crying for himself? Or Eleanor? Or Sarah? What would she think of him now?

It was a hard cry, but short lived. Wesley was thankful it was late and that there was no one around to witness his breakdown. He removed a handkerchief from his jacket and cleaned himself up. It was time to talk to Giles.

*

Although the majority of the building was dark and quiet, Giles’ office was still aglow at the end of the hall. Giles was reading when Wesley entered, his head down in a book.

“How did-” he stopped when he looked up and saw his colleague's face, “What happened?”

“Cruciamentum.”

Giles nodded, “You’re in a precarious situation right now. I don’t agree with the practice but Travers does seem to like this slayer more than… others, so I do not believe that-”

“I think Eleanor is a slayer reincarnated,” Wesley said, cutting him off.

“What?”

Wesley began to tick off his reasons on his fingers, “She accepted that she was the slayer without question. She is entirely too good, too talented. She knew exactly where two vampires would rise tonight- that kind of skill takes years to hone. She is unconcerned about anything outside of slaying. And… in the hospital she made some comment that dying wouldn’t release her from her destiny. She has to be a previous slayer reincarnated.”

Giles nodded, “The idea has merit, and would explain a lot, but why? To what end? Why would the Powers bring back a previous slayer instead of calling a new one? And if she is a previous slayer, which one?”

“I wonder if there is a prophecy about some circumstance like this. Maybe a strong slayer was brought back to stop something big?”

“Have you asked Eleanor about any of this?”

“No. I think she likes me well enough, but she seems so disconnected, I just don’t know how she’d respond to this kind of questioning.”

“Well, we can start looking into possible prophesies to see if we can figure out who Eleanor is,” Giles said, then asked, “Do you think Eleanor knows something is amiss? If she is… someone else, would she have reason to think you know?”

“I don’t think so, but I don’t know. She rarely opens up to me, and ever when she does she shuts down afterwards.”

“Let’s see what we dig up, but we may, in fact, need to ask her. She might be as confused as we are.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started posting, I was about 90% done. The last 10% has taken me over a month to finish. Yikes! That last little bit was the hardest! On the bright side, it is now finished and my lovely beta JewelsP got me the final edits back today. Special thanks to her and kasumi. Like always, I cannot leave well enough along and any remaining mistakes are mine.

Wesley and Eleanor were attempting to train, but it was really just a miserable mess.  The injections that Wesley had been giving her had completely tapped her out. She was cold but sweating _and_ shivering.

Finally, she said, “I’m sorry Wes, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“That’s quite all right, I think that’s enough for the day. Maybe you’ve come down with some sort of flu?”

“Terrible birthday gift,” she responded, “it’s tomorrow.”

“I didn’t realize,” Wesley said, although she knew he was lying.

“Yeah,” she said and plopped down onto the training room floor, “I know it’s silly, but, since we’re finished away, do you think I could walk to the bakery down the street and buy myself a cupcake? It’s stupid, but… well… I’m just…” She started to cry. Stupid tears. She was just so tired, and felt so horrible. It wasn’t even really _her_ birthday, but she felt neglected and overall just yucky. At least this time she knew what was happening and was prepared for it.

Wesley came around and sat beside her, rubbing her back, “I could go and fetch something for you.”

“No, I want to get out, maybe a small walk will make me feel better,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“Of course, I suppose that’s all right then. You know where you’re going? You’ve always had me with you before.”

“I’ll be fine.”

*

Emotional train wreck girl, made her way down the street. It was cold and raining out, which totally matched her dreary mood.  Yes, she was going to buy herself a cupcake, but this was also the first time she didn’t have a chaperone outside of headquarters, and she had a phone call that she had been wanting to make for weeks. She had been able to slip her letter in a mailbox without much trouble, but a phone call wasn’t that easy.

She had always been conscious to scope things out when she and Wesley made their way to and from graveyards and there was a phone box near the bakery.

Dropping money into the machine, she dialed the numbers she knew by heart, she panicked for a moment, remembering the huge time difference, if it was 10 AM here… what time was it in Sunnydale? 2AM?

“What?” asked a voice.

“Willy! My favorite snitch, I need some information.”

“Who is this?”

“You know who it is,” she said in a threatening voice, “Spike still in town?”

“What? Wait? Uh, yeah, I think. I mean, six months ago he was in here all the time getting drunk and killing my other customers. He hasn’t been in much recently, good riddance. He was causing too much trouble, and everyone knew he was making a fuss over the slayer.”

“What about the slayer?”

“Who knows, Spike is still hanging around with her and her friends… say, who did you say this was?”

She slammed the phone back down onto the receiver. Buffy was alive? Wow. She had been so sure she was really Buffy, or well, Buffy’s soul in poor Eleanor.

 

The slayer shook her head, it just wasn’t possible. She had Buffy’s memories… Buffy _died_. She was _dead_. Maybe Willy had meant another slayer? Faith maybe? But the last she had heard Faith was in prison. And if Buffy was still alive, why wouldn’t Giles be with her?

 

*

Cupcake in hand, she made her way back to headquarters. Eleanor’s favorite flavor had been carrot cake, and Buffy had been a lover of all things chocolate, but in the end she had settled on a vanilla cupcake with caramel icing. She was looking forward to eating it later, but she had something else she had to take care of first.

Mrs. Whitt was at the front desk when she walked in and was happy enough to let her know where Giles’ office was located. She made her way up to the 4th floor and down the hall passing by the offices of other tweed wearing Watchers who raised their heads and watched her as she passed.

The slayer stood, for a moment, outside of her destination, before she gathered her strength to knock. From the other side she heard a muffled, “Come in.”

“Oh- uh- hello,” Giles stood clumsily and quickly deposited what he had been reading in his desk drawer. With a cough he extended his hand, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Slayer,” she said pointing to herself, “Watcher” she said and pointed to him, but she took his hand and shook it.

“A rather succinct way to put it. What can I do for you, Miss Adams?”

She looked Giles over, he seemed much older than she remembered. Where had those lines around his face come from? Was his hair always that gray? Instead of asking she said, “I need to talk to someone I can trust.”

“Oh? And you came to me? Is there a problem with your Watcher?” Giles asked.

She frowned and said nothing. This was supposed to be easy, but now… was this a good idea?

“I’m sorry… I’ll just.. I’m sorry for wasting your time,” she began to move to the door.

“Come in, Eleanor. Perhaps we ought to start out easy then. How is training with Wesley going?”

“Oh, he’s much better this time!” _Shit_. So much for taking it easy.

“This time?” Giles asked, startled.

“Shit. I…” she sat and hunched over in the chair, hiding her face, “I don’t know who I am but I have all of Buffy’s _and_ all of Eleanor’s memories.”

She heard Giles sit down in his own chair, the leather squeaking as he did so. Long moments passed before she heard the clink of glass and the sound of something being poured.

She risked looking up at the man who had been her… Buffy’s father figure.

Giles was staring at her, his eyes wet with unshed tears, “I believe you should start at the beginning.”

So she did: she told him about waking up and being sure she wasn’t Eleanor, but also being unsure she was Buffy. Memories meant nothing.

“We could play 20 questions, and I’d get all the answers right, because I have all of Buffy’s memories. I remember the first time we met in the library, the ascension, the Initiative…  I also remember Eleanor’s mom and her friends, ballet lessons… but I don’t feel like Eleanor _or_ Buffy, but the only thing that even seems to… spark inside of me, besides the slaying, is worrying about Dawn. I just feel so disconnected. And… is Buffy still alive?”

Giles looked confused, “Why would you ask that?”

“I… I called Willy in Sunnydale, and he said there was still a slayer in town.”

“Ah,” Giles said with a nod, “the Buffy Bot.”

The slayer felt absurdly relieved to hear that, and then she felt ashamed. She wasn’t happy it wasn’t Buffy in Sunnydale, but there was still a large part of her that felt like that’s who she was… and if Buffy had been still alive, then it couldn’t be true.

“Oh… well… I still don’t know who I am. Am I Buffy or do I just have her memories? Is her soul in me? If I have Buffy’s soul, where is Eleanor’s? Is it still here? Have I possessed her? It only feels like there is one of us. Maybe I’m neither girl, maybe I’m some new soul and the Powers just gave me the cliff notes of their lives...How do I figure out who I am?”

Giles drained his drink, poured himself another and drained it as well.

“I know of a ritual that will reveal if you’re possessed, but it can be dangerous, and I don’t recommend it… but finding out if you’re Buffy or someone else is going to be a great deal harder. I think you ought to tell Wesley what you told me. He already knows something is going on-”

“What? How?” she asked, startled.

“You’re far too mature, too strong. He thinks you are a reincarnated slayer and came to me with his concerns.”

She smiled, “You know, I said he was a better Watcher this time. I’m actually pretty proud of him for figuring it out.”

“Wesley is a very intelligent man,” he chastised.

“I know,” she said, a little embarrassed, “I wasn’t trying to hide anything, the last four months have just been very confusing to me.”

“I understand, and I think Wesley will too.”

“Can I just tell him I’m a former slayer then? I don’t have to tell him I might be Buffy do I? At least, until I figure it out?”

“I would tell him as much of the truth as you feel comfortable with, but this isn’t the sort of thing you want to keep secret for too long, from anyone...Except maybe Travers.”

“Thanks, Giles,” she said and stood.

“For what it’s worth, I would not be surprised to find you are indeed Buffy. Your fighting manner is very similar, you even look somewhat like her,” he took off his glasses and polished the lens, “I’m sorry I wasn’t… that I didn’t do a better job of protecting you.”

She tilted her head and smiled, “You were the best watcher I could have ever asked for.”

He smiled and placed the glasses back onto his face, “Thank you for that.”

She turned to leave and remembered, “You know that time Faith possessed me? Tara reads auras and she knew it wasn’t me. Do you think she might be able to tell if I’m… at least possessing Eleanor?”

“I think that is an excellent idea. Speaking of- you do realize tomorrow is your- Eleanor’s birthday, yes?”

She reached into her purse and removed a can of hairspray and a lighter, “Instant torch. Plus I’ve been carrying around stakes and holy water for the last few days too.”

“I always knew you were a smart girl.”

*

Buffy was in a graveyard and there were demons all around her. The odds didn’t look good, but it didn’t matter, this is what she did. She twirled one of her stakes, “So who’s first?”

“Not starting without me, are you luv?”

She smiled at her companion. He looked relaxed in his leather duster with his hands shoved into the pockets, but she could tell his body was primed for a fight, “Of course not, Spike. You ready?”

He lifted an eyebrow suggestively and smirked, “Always ready for you.”

Buffy winked, then they moved forward, working in tandem. They fit together, he on her left, she on his right. He went high, she went low. They danced with the ease of practice; they had done this before. He was her partner, he had her back, and she had his. This was what it was meant to be like.

The unending swarm of demons was suddenly gone, had they killed them all? Spike was there smiling, his tongue curled behind his teeth in a way she found highly arousing, but she would never tell him that. He knew anyway. Spike was on her in an instant, “Rough and tumble get you all wet and ready, luv?”

“Yes,” she hissed as he kissed her neck.

“I’m always ready for you,” she said, echoing his earlier statement.

A hand slid into the waistband of her pants, his fingers skimming the skin just above her panties. He was teasing her and she _wanted_ him so badly, she _needed_ him… instead, he pulled away.

“Soon, luv, soon. You’ve got another battle to fight first. I can’t be there, but I’m waiting.”

“What?” she asked.

Spike smiled at her and stepped away. The ground was shaking then, she stumbled and tried to hold onto something, anything and…someone was shaking her…

And waking her up from a _very_ good dream with Spike… _Whoa_ , awake now! What was _that_? Way different dream than she was used to having.

Her eyes shot open and Wesley was beside her bed, looking like he was about to puke on her, it completely killed the previous train of thought and brought her to the present.

“Back up, Uncle Wes, what’s wrong?”

He sat on the side of her bed and she noticed his hands were shaking, “Eleanor… I’ve… There are things I’ve had to do in the name of duty, even though I knew they were wrong. I don’t want anything to happen to you, I’m not your uncle, but if I had a niece, if I had had a daughter... I would want her to be like you.”

“Thanks, but couldn’t this have waited until,” she looked at her clock, it was 3 AM, “a more reasonable time of morning?”

“I have to tell you now because in the morning I have to-”

She put a hand over Wesley’s mouth, “Stop. I got this. Go back to bed.”

He frowned, “I don’t think you understand.”

“Wesley,” she said authoritatively, “if you say anything more you’re going to get yourself in trouble. You are my Watcher and I want to keep you as my Watcher. Go to bed. I will see you in the morning.”  

He stood, and walked out of her room as if possessed. He did not look back.

*

Her Cruciamentum was ridiculously easy. Wesley came by her room in the morning saying they had been asked to check out a warehouse. The car ride there with him was uncomfortably silent. Wesley wouldn’t meet her eyes, wouldn’t even look at her.

When they arrived at the location she went in alone and he locked the door behind her. The vampire they had locked in with her was barely older than a fledgling. Her hairspray torch made short work of him; she was almost disappointed. She was also sure, more than ever, that Travers had meant for Buffy to die during her cruciamentum.

Back in the car, Wesley looked both relieved and angry at how quickly she had finished her task, but said nothing.

They drove back towards the city, but he made a sudden turn into a parking lot and quickly bolted out of the car. She sat there for a moment, in shock, before chasing out after him.

Wesley was pacing back and forth at the back of the lot, hands clenched into fists, and she was almost afraid to approach him.

“How?” he snarled when she got close.

She wrung her hands together, “I was a slayer and I died, and I woke up in the hospital with you at my side. I knew about the test, because I went through it before. I was a slayer, and I died saving the world, but that wasn’t good enough, so they brought me back to do it again! That’s how!” She turned away from him, trying not to cry. She didn’t want Wesley mad at her, but what was she supposed to have done? And she was going to tell him, once the Cruciamentum was over.

Wesley tipped her head up, forcing her to look at him, “I’m sorry I yelled, the last week has  been incredibly taxing for me. I didn’t like drugging you, even though it was my duty as a Watcher.”

She nodded and wiped her tears away.

“Why didn’t you tell me before? About being a former slayer?” he asked, hurt lacing his voice.

“I was going to, I swear, I just… everything in my head is all jumbled up and I’m not even sure _who_ I am. I don’t know who I am! I have no sense of identity beside being the slayer. I was a slayer, then I died, and now I’m a slayer again! I’m just so confused…”

Wesley wrapped his arms around her in a hug, “We’ll figure it out together niece.”

“I trust you.”

“I don’t want to lose you. As Watchers we aren’t supposed to become emotionally involved with our charges, but I don’t believe that’s possible. I see you like a daughter, and while I know that slaying is your destiny, I still want to protect you. I’ve… lost people, and I know…”

“I know you lost your girlfriend-”

“Sarah,” Wesley said, “Her name was Sarah. I got her killed, and I don’t want that to happen to you.”

Eleanor tighten her grasp, “I’m sure whatever it was that happened wasn’t your fault.”

“I was tracking a demon, and then he turned the tables and followed me home. She was pregnant…”

“It wasn’t your fault. You’re a good man, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. I trust you with my life.”

*

The remainder of the drive back to headquarters was much easier. In spite of their somber conversation, Wesley was smiling, and she saw him looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“I knew it, about you being a reincarnated slayer? I knew it! And your test! Your torch idea was ingenious.”

She smiled but hid it behind her hair,  it wouldn’t do for him to see how pleased she was.

“You won’t tell, will you?” she asked then, in a serious tone.

“I uh… well, I may have mentioned my concerns to someone already.”

“Just Giles, right? Not Travers?”

Wesley shot her a surprised look, “No, I haven’t and won’t tell Travers. How did you know that I spoke to Giles?”

“I talked to Giles yesterday… Don’t be mad at me for going to him first, I wanted to run an idea past him. He knows a girl in Sunnydale who can see auras and I want her to help me figure out what’s going on. I don’t know who I am. I have memories of Eleanor and another life. I don’t feel like Eleanor anymore. I think she died in the crash and the Powers put me in her shell.”

He took her hand, “I’m not mad, but I do wish you had come to me first. I want you to trust me.”

“I do trust you, you’ve been a wonderful Watcher,” she said, “And I know you’ll help me figure things out… which is why we need to go to Sunnydale.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’ll be cleared for field work since you’ve passed your test, but… I don’t know that Travers would okay us going there.”

“Tell him we’re going to Sunnydale to clean up the mess Buffy left, he’ll agree to that.” Sunnydale also meant seeing everyone. She missed them all. Dawn, Buffy’s friends, even Spike… and apparently her subconscious missed him too.

Wesley frowned, “Why would you suggest that?”

“He hated m- my former slayer sister. If you imply Buffy was less than adequate, he’ll eat it up.”

*

Later that evening Wesley relayed to Giles his conversations with Eleanor and Travers. The head of the Council did seem especially gleeful at the idea of his new slayer going to Sunnydale to clean up Buffy’s mess there. Apparently there had been reports coming in that the Hellmouth there was more active than usual.

Now that Eleanor had passed her test, Sunnydale seemed like the perfect place to test her mettle. Even so, Wesley still felt like going to Sunnydale was going to be akin to walking into a hornets’ nest, which is why Giles was making a phone call to the Summers’ residence.

It was Willow’s chirpy voice that answered.

“Willow, it’s Giles. How are things?”

“Oh you know, Hellmouthy. Buffy Bot is going out nightly, but I think the demons are realizing she’s not up to par.”

“Well then, this might come as welcome news, the Council is sending the new slayer to Sunnydale.”

“What? No! We don’t need it. I mean, the Buffy Bot isn’t enough, but we need Buffy, not just some newbie slayer,” Willow whined.

“Buffy is gone. The appointment wouldn’t be permanent, just until the activity of the Hellmouth is brought to a more normal level. Wesley and Eleanor are will be in California next week sometime.”

“We don’t need them,” she said stubbornly.

Giles was surprised at the coldness of the young witch’s tone, “How are things otherwise? Has  Dawn been adjusting? Any word from Mr. Summers?”

“Dawn is fine, we’re all fine. You left us, what does it matter? Why do you even care?”

“Willow, I do care about you all… but… I think it was obvious that you all didn’t need me, and without Buffy…” Giles tried to explain.

“Whatever. I’ll let Dawn know you called,” Willow said and hung up the phone.

‘ _Well, that did not go well at all_ ,’ Giles thought.

*

Willow paced back and forth in the hallway. Having a slayer and a Watcher here could jeopardize her plans. Too many watchful eyes.

What if they figured out they were trying to raise Buffy? What if they already _had_ figured it out, and that’s why there were coming? No… if Giles knew what she had tried to do, he wouldn’t have called.

She had to take the phone call at face value: the Council knew the Hellmouth was getting unruly and they were sending a slayer to get it under control. Still, this would complicate things. It was easy to keep Spike and Dawn out of the loop, but Wesley and a slayer? Well, Wesley was a joke and the slayer was some new inexperienced child… still, she would have to be careful.

And she would have to figure out what went wrong last time. Willow had looked over the spell text hundreds of times, it should have worked! It _was_ working, right up until the end. Maybe the sacrifice of the doe wasn’t enough… maybe she needed something else. Something bigger? More innocent? Maybe a different spell?

The Magic Box would have some… darker texts… it wouldn’t hurt to see what else was there.

She _needed_ Buffy back and she would figure out how to do it. She had to.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters. Thanks to JewelsP and kasumi for beta’ing, any remaining mistakes are mine.

Unpacking had been substantially easier than packing. She actually had things this time. Without noticing it, she had somehow managed to acquire things, things that were _hers_. She didn’t really have a need for much outside of clothes to slay in… but she had the Jane Austen books Wesley had purchased for her and the journal, but then she had picked up a cute alarm clock, then a stuffed pig, then this knick knack and that. It was surprising how stuff just added up.

She had a suitcase full of things and they were going to be leaving for the airport first thing tomorrow. She was heading to Sunnydale and Dawn. The thought of seeing Dawn filled her with both hope and dread. Buffy had died mid-May and it was now the beginning of January, over seven months had passed.

She wanted so badly to be able to tell Dawn and the others who she _thought_ she was, but if she was wrong, and she wasn’t Buffy? It would be like killing Buffy all over again, and she couldn’t do that to her friends. Still, she was excited to see the people she cared so much about.

*

Willow knew her days without extra eyes on her were numbered. Giles had called with an update; Wesley and the new slayer would be in Sunnydale soon. He had asked her to arrange a meeting for the two groups, she had protested, but agreed. If she pushed back too hard, Giles would be suspicious.

She had hoped for a little more time to research before doing this again, but when life gave you lemons! It was a new moon, the beginning of a new cycle, so maybe the gods would be on her side this time.

Willow arranged the candles around Buffy’s gave, and laid a circle of salt and other herbs around the grave. She hadn’t told the others she was trying again. A small part of her suspected that their doubt, especially on Xander and Anya’s end, was what caused the spell to fail, so this time she was doing it alone.

The _milk of the mother_ this time was a little _more_ than last time too. She had lured a doe and its fawn to her this time, and had sacrificed both. Surely Osiris would be happier with a bigger sacrifice? And the symbolism of a mother and daughter? Surely, it would be enough.

The spell began in much the same way, but she could feel the extra strength from the sacrifices. More power and it felt _so good_. In this moment, she felt like she could do anything, and she would, she would raise Buffy.

The tests were the same, but Willow found them much easier to bare, even the snake slithering through her, whereas before she was disgusted, now she felt euphoric. The magic raised her higher and higher and then…

When the spell failed this time, the crash was so much harder. All that magic inside her had no outlet, instead is sizzled and sparked within her body. She turned and retched, and her whole body shaking. She felt like she was hung over, except much much worse, the headache was blinding and her body ached.

When the worst of it was finally over and she could move, she collected the items she had brought for the resurrection, stowing them away in her bag. She wiped her mouth and stumbled out of the graveyard.

What went wrong this time? Did she need a bigger sacrifice? A different spell? It was time to raid some of the darker texts hidden away in the Magic Box. Maybe even a trip to Los Angeles to a different magic store for some more...unsavory items that might help.

*

Wesley had rented a house near one of the larger cemeteries for the two of them to share during their stay in Sunnydale. Unlike their flight to England, Eleanor was almost manic with excitement, practically humming with energy. It was the most engaged that he had ever seen her. It worried him.

They had gotten to Sunnydale that morning, and had spent the day unpacking. Fortunately, the house had been set up prior to their arrival and was stocked with anything they might need. Wesley’s personal library was being shipped, and would take a bit longer, but they had the essentials here.

The house itself was a quaint two story craftsman style house. Wesley had the master room on the first floor and Eleanor had taken one of the upstairs bedrooms in the back. Wesley pretended not to notice how conveniently the tree was situated outside one of the room’s windows. If Eleanor wanted to think she’d be pulling one over on him by sneaking in and out, he’d let her.

It was comfortable here, and Wesley could see himself getting used to this life. After the nasty business with Faith and the ascension, when the Council had fired him he had tried his hand at being a rogue demon hunter, but then Sarah had died… he had not hesitated to come back when they had called. He had always wanted to do something, to accomplish something, to make his father proud, but he always fell short. He was always letting the people he loved down. But now… Eleanor was his second chance at things. Or third rather. He had let everyone else in his life down, but not her, not his slayer.

Eleanor bounced down the stairs, “Is it time to go yet?”

“Nearly,” Wesley said, but cautioned, “They might not be as excited to see you as you are them.”

She frowned, “I know… but they… they know about the slaying, it’d be so nice to have someone to talk to about all this, to have friends again!”

He turned and put his hands on Eleanor’s shoulders, “They are _not_ your friends, they were _Buffy’s_. Giles said Willow was not excited about the prospect of us coming, she seems to think the Buffy Bot is doing an adequate job.”

“Okay, okay. I get it,” she said, but he could tell that she still hadn’t prepared herself.

*

Her body was thrumming with energy, and she skipped while Wesley walked beside her. She had no idea why he was being so grumpy, but she wasn’t going to let him get her down. She was truly happy and excited for the first time since she had woken up. Life at headquarters had been relaxing and fulfilling in its own way, but not happy.

As the Magic Box came into view, she had to restrain herself from running the rest of the way. She felt like she was waiting in line at an amusement park for a roller coaster, excited, but suddenly when it’s her turn to get on, nervous and sick to the stomach. She faltered a bit at the door Wesley raised an eyebrow, as if to ask if she was ready. She nodded.

As they walked in the door, the gang was sitting at the tables in the back and they all stopped talking and turned to look. The smile that was on her face disappeared in an instant. No one smiled except the Buffy Bot and there was a nervous energy flowing through the room that she hadn’t expected.

She has the distinct impression that they were talking about her. Dawn was standing, her arms crossed and fuming; Xander was a mirror image. Willow looked annoyed. Anya was busy at the register ignoring everyone. Spike was half hidden in the back, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth, and he looked at her from under his lashes, stoic. His beautiful cheekbones were more defined than usually, and she could  tell he hadn’t been eating or sleeping. Tara smiled shyly at her, but she seemed to be keeping out of Willow’s eyesight.

Wesley coughed, “Good evening. I believe you were expecting us. This is Eleanor Anne Adams, the new slayer.”

For a moment there was silence and then Willow asked, “Why are you here? If there is an apocalypse coming we could have taken care of it on our own.”

Dawn piped up, “We don’t need some replacement, you won’t replace Buffy!”

“I’m not-” she began, but Dawn didn’t want to hear anything she had to say. The young girl rushed toward the door, shouldering her as she went by. Spike followed Dawn a beat later, giving her a nod of acknowledgment as he went by.

“Don’t take it personally,” Anya said looking up, “She’s been like that since… well… just ignore her like the rest of us do.”

“She’s just dealing with the loss of her sister. It’s not you,” Tara said meekly, “We’re happy you’re here.”

“That isn’t what everyone was saying a moment ago,” the Buffy Bot supplied helpfully.

The slayer took a step back, distancing herself from these people who used to be her friends.

“So why are you here?” Xander asked.

When she said nothing, Wesley spoke up, “We’re here to do a little research, help get the Hellmouth under control-”

“I’ll stay out of your way,” the slayer said, her voice barely above a whisper, “It’s obvious I’m not wanted here.” She turned and ran out the door without waiting to hear any more. She had been looking forward to seeing her… _Buffy’s_ family and friends… they didn’t even give her a chance. Had they always been like that? Had Buffy treated newcomers like that? Sure, they kept the whole vampire slayer thing a secret, but hadn’t they been accepting of Anya and Tara when they joined the Scoobies?

They hadn’t accepted Spike. They had been cruel to him. She… Buffy… had been cruel as well. Karmic justice perhaps.

Wesley was not far behind, although he had to run to catch up to her, “What did you expect? You weren’t coming to replace Buffy.”

“I was being stupid expecting anything. I should have known or at least prepared for this. You warned me, but I wouldn’t listen... I need to blow off some steam, I’m going to go patrol.”

“Eleanor, no, it’s been a long journey and you need your rest.”

“Wesley, I am going on patrol. I’ve been a very obedient slayer and while I may look 18, I’m older than that and I’ve been through a lot. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” she said and took off, leaving Wesley behind.

Her chest hurt and she wanted to cry… to kill and tear. She laughed to herself, she needed ‘a spot of violence’, as Spike would say. Luckily, Restfield Cemetery was in front of her, she’d at least find some fledglings and, if she was lucky, something tougher.

It didn’t take very long. It was obvious that there hadn’t been a slayer around to keep things under control. A gang of vampires surrounded her. She smiled.

“What have we here? What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here all alone?”

“I was just looking for some fun,” she said innocently with a shrug, “but I might have gotten a little lost.”

“That’s a real shame, but I’m sure me and my boys could show you some fun,” he said and grabbed his crotch, implying what kind of fun they intended to have.

“Oh, I’m pretty much counting on it,” she said with a wink and pulled two stakes out from the small of her back, “Let’s have some fun.”

*

The noise of the fight caught Spike’s attention from across the cemetery. He started to run towards it thinking it was the Buffy Bot in trouble, but as he got closer, he realized it wasn’t a blonde fighting, but a brunette. The new slayer was tussling with a gang of vamps, although she was doing a bloody good job at evening the numbers up.

It was obvious that she didn’t need his help, so he took a seat. It had been too long since he’d be able to watch a slayer, a _real_ slayer, at work. It was a beautiful sight. The new chit’s figure was similar to Buffy’s, tall and slim but without the blonde hair. They could almost be sisters. They fought a lot alike too… and it wasn’t just a _slayer_ style of fighting… Buffy hadn’t fought like the other two slayers he’d tangoed with... Buffy fought like she was dancing or figure skating. Buffy fought like a choreographed dance, beauty and poetry. The new girl fought the same way.  He watched her from the distance, admiring... for such a new slayer, she was talented, perhaps even more so than Buffy and Buffy had been the best.

Once the fighting was over the slayer stood still for a long moment before she turned directly to look at him. She had sensed him, even as far away as he was. He knew that she could tell exactly where he was hiding in the shadows. Strange, that. A newbie slayer shouldn’t have been able to sense him.

“’lo, pet. I don’t think we had proper introductions,” he said as she walked towards him. She studied him for several beats, not saying anything.

“I hear you’re sort of a good guy,” she said with a tilt of the head.

“I’m still the big bad, just made a promise to a lady.” The chit smiled at that and nodded. Buffy had talked almost constantly, this girl was quietly studying him and Spike suddenly felt self-conscious under her gaze.

“Eleanor,” she said and extended her hand.

Spike took it gingerly, like he expected a trick, “Spike.”

“You been patrolling?” she asked.

“A little, just doin’ my part.”

“To keep Dawn safe,” she said quietly.

He shot her a look, “Is that what they told you?”

“No, they told me to leave, except, maybe not in those words.”

“What’d you expect?” he asked as he lounged against a headstone. He fished his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. He took a deep breath and blew it out in the girl’s direction.

“I was naive.  I expected her friends to be my friends,” she said in a very matter-of-fact tone. She didn’t sound upset, just disappointed and resigned.

Spike glanced at her sideways, she looked young, but she wasn’t acting like it. She seemed a little broken, someone who had seen too much of the bad and not enough of the good.

“They lost their friend, they don’ want a replacement,” he told her, his lips pursing around the smoke. She turned to him, her gray eyes looking cold and hard.

“What about you, you have a replacement?”

‘ _A replacement for what?_ ’he wondered. Instead he said, “There’s no replacin’ Buffy, pet.”

“Good,” she said, surprising him. It had been bloody obvious that she had hoped to slide in with the Scoobies, so why not him too? She shifted and glanced at her watch.

“I’ll see you around, Spike.”

“Likewise, Slayer.” He watched her walk away and stared at the spot she had disappeared from long after she was gone.

*

The slayer made her way home, easily navigating the streets of Sunnydale. The light was on in the kitchen, and she entered through the back door where she knew Wesley was waiting for her.

He looked up as she entered, a book and notes scattered on the table. She sat down across from him, waiting for him yell or something, he didn’t.

Finally, when it was obvious he wasn’t going to say anything, “I’m sorry Wesley. I was hurt and I took it out on you… well, I snapped at you and I took it out on some vampires. It wasn’t your fault and I shouldn’t have acted like that… I just… I didn’t expect everyone to hate me such much. I mean, I didn’t expect us all to be BFF’s instantly or anything, but I also didn’t expect… _that_.”

“I did try to warn you,” Wesley said.

“I know, I know. You told me so… and I know you didn’t even want to come to Sunnydale in the first place. I’ll go out nightly and make a dent in the demon population and after I speak to Tara we can leave. I thought I belonged here, but now… I don’t know where I belong.”

“We don’t have to rush into any decisions. There are some texts in the Magic Box that I’d like the get into, but we can leave in a few weeks if that’s what you want. We can hit the Hellmouth in Cleveland, maybe make a home for ourselves there.”

She nodded, “Cleveland sounds good.” She gave her Watcher a hug and headed upstairs. She needed a good night’s sleep, but she wouldn’t object to a cameo appearance from a certain vampire.

*

Wesley turned back to his notes, his eyes skimmed over them, but he wasn’t really reading, he couldn’t concentrate. It was apparent who Eleanor was, or at least who she thought she was. He marveled at how Eleanor could be so much quieter than Buffy was. Interesting to wonder what was genetic, what was… a person’s essence, and what was experience. What sort of effect did dying have on a person?

If the Sunnydale gang knew Eleanor was a former slayer, would they make the same connection he had? Would they be able to tell she was Buffy? They had known Buffy far better than he ever had but would their prejudices prevent them from seeing past the surface?

*

Upstairs the slayer tormented herself by reliving the meeting over and over in her mind. Had Buffy’s death changed them? How could her friends treat a slayer so coldly? If she had been watching them from heaven, she would have been disappointed in them. What would Buffy have done if a new slayer had walked into their lives? Was that another reason why Faith had hated Buffy so much?

Faith had been the original slayer and Buffy had been called after Faith had died, temporarily, during a battle with the Vampire Master of Boston. Her watcher had been with her and was able to revive the girl, but she was gone long enough for Buffy to be called.

The other girl had lead a more “traditional” slayer lifestyle with no family and no friends, so when Faith came to Sunnydale after the death of her Watcher and saw Buffy’s life she had been angry and jealous. Why had the Council forced her to live in near solitude if Buffy was able to continue living her life?

It _hadn’t_ been fair. Life wasn’t fair.

She lay down on her bed and looked up at the unfamiliar ceiling, in the unfamiliar room, in a familiar town, filled with people she didn’t know anymore.

*

She was warm and there were a pair of strong arms wrapped around her. She felt safe, and loved.

“You alright, pet? You’re awfully quiet tonight. You’re usually chattin’ my ear off.”

She twisted in her protector’s arms to see who held her… Spike.

“I had a rough day.”

“Yeah? Tell ol’ Spike about it.”

“My friends hate me. My sister hates me.”

“No one hates you, luv. They just miss you, it’s been hard on them, havin’ you gone.”

“I miss them, and Dawn, and you,” she whispered.

Spike nuzzled her neck, “Don’t gotta miss me, I’m right here.” His lips found hers, and he kissed her softly, gently; this wasn’t about passion, it was about love and reassurance.

“I need you,” she said, “I need you beside me.”

“I’ll be exactly where you need me. You know where to find me, but if you want to know a secret, ‘lil sis is where you want to start. She’s lonely, go see her first.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the halfway point! As always, thanks to JewelsP and kasumi for beta’ing, any remaining mistakes are mine.

The slayer was on her way to see Dawn. Dream Spike had told her to see Dawn first, so that’s where she was heading. She tried not to read too much into the rest of the dream past how _nice_ it had been. She was so sure, in the dream, that she was loved, wanted, treasured even. While Dawn had been first and foremost in her waking thoughts, the bleached vampire had been her nightly visitor. At first her dreams of him had strictly revolved around the night on Glory’s tower, but since her birthday, they had often been of a more _romantic_ nature. She was trying not to read too much into that, even if she found Spike attractive… it wasn’t like _he_ felt anything toward her… unless she _was_ Buffy…

‘ _Stop_ ,’ she told herself, ‘ _do not go down that road_.’

She stopped at 1630 Revello Drive, walked up the sidewalk, and knocked. It felt so weird to be knocking and not just walking right in like it was her house.

Dawn answered the door. “What?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Do you want to go get dinner? Maybe a movie? I’ll sneak you into something R-rated,” she promised.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“I’ll buy!”

Dawn rolled her eyes, “Whatever, but you’re buying dinner _and_ movie theater snacks, popcorn, soda the whole shebang.”

“Deal,” the slayer said with a smile.

*

Dawn played it cool at first, but the slayer knew how to get her going. She asked about boys and once Dawn started it became a continuous commentary moving from the boys at school to which movie stars were the hunkiest. By the end of dinner Dawn had warmed up considerably, and the boy talk ended with, “Of course, Spike is way hot, too bad he doesn’t notice anyone now.”

She smiled at Dawn’s assessment, and the other girl noticed.

They ended up seeing a vampire movie and spent the next two hours laughing at how stupid it was and throwing popcorn at the screen.

It was by far, one of the most enjoyable evenings she had ever spent with Dawn, and she wondered why she had never done this sort of thing with her sister before… but there was always something else going on, some sort of big bad. It was hard being a big sister when you had big problems and a big duty to all of humanity. ‘ _Is that true, or am I just making excuses?_ ’ she asked herself.

They left the theater and started the long walk back home. She wished she could tell Dawn how much tonight had meant to her, but she settled with, “We should do this again, it was fun.”

“It was… I mean, you’re not that much older than me. I wish Buffy and I had been closer in age… maybe we would have spent more time together. Most of my memories of her aren’t even real, I didn’t even exist for most of it.”

Clearing her throat, the slayer said, “I’m not trying to replace Buffy, but I’m happy to be a pseudo-big sis while I’m here.”

“So, you’re going to leave then?” Dawn asked.

“I know you all don’t want me here, I’m going to do what I came to do and then Wesley and I are going to Cleveland. Maybe you could come visit once in a while?”

“That would be awesome,” she squealed and hugged the slayer, “I don’t care what the others say I don’t think you’re so bad after all.”

“So how has Spike been doing? You mentioned him earlier.”

“He was totally depressed for months, getting drunk all the time, but I reminded him he promised Buffy he’d look out for me. It got him to stop drinking himself to death and trying to meet the sun.”

That stopped the slayer in her tracks, “He tried to kill himself?”

“Totally. And my sister was always such a bitch to him, she didn’t deserve his love at all.”

‘ _No, she didn’t_ ,’ she thought to herself.

“I wish I had been able to talk to Buffy like this. We fought all the time. I don’t think she even liked me, why would she have died to save me? It doesn’t make any sense. She told me to live, well, dying was the easy part, going on without her is much harder. ”

That hurt. “If your sister didn’t love you, she wouldn’t have sacrificed herself for you. You meant more to her than the entire world.”

“That’s what she said in her letter. If I meant so much to her, why did she leave me?”

“If Buffy were still alive, her first thought would be of getting back to you, and helping you in whatever way she could. I know the others are angry I’m here, and like I said, I’m not trying to replace your sister, but I am here to help. Even if that just means having someone to sit around and watch movies with.”

*

Spike was making his way back to his crypt when he saw Eleanor struggling with a furry beast of a demon. Unlike last week when he could tell she had the upper hand with the vamp gang, she seemed to be losing ground.

Without further thought, he jumped in beside her and she seemed to sync with him immediately, it was like she knew all his moves and was able to anticipate each exchange. When he went in with fist and fangs, she stepped back and when she took the lead he was behind her, supporting her. The demon, being double teamed like he was, didn’t stand a chance. While the slayer was throwing kicks, Spike rounded on his back, and was able to wrap his arms around its neck and with a twist, dropped the beast.

How wonderful, it would have been, to fight like this with Buffy, working in tandem to bring the beasties down…

Eleanor kicked the dead thing, “Thanks, Spike. I was having some trouble. I’m not used to fighting things this big. Most of what I tangled with in London were more… people sized, not so much with the giants.”

“The bigger they are…” he smirked.

“He fell alright… It was nice having someone at my back. Wesley would patrol with me, but strictly in a watching capacity. I wish it was always like this.”

“You’ve barely even started being the slayer,” Spike quipped, “it’s only been 247 days.”

He was counting. Her eyes felt wet so she closed them, “Well, it feels like years.”

“Tsk, just wait until it _has_ been years.”

“Yeah…” the slayer said with a frown.

“So why haven’t you tried, or at least threatened to stake me. I am a vamp you know,” Spike said, his head down.

“I heard you were a temporary white hat. Are you suggesting I need to stake you? Got something you’re feeling guilty about?”

“Yeah. I mean, I got no soul to make me feel guilty, but yeah, I wish I had done things differently. ‘sides, I’m used to being threatened with a dusting on a weekly basis.”

“What?” she asked, genuinely shocked, “I thought you were one of the Scooby Gang now?”

“I am not a bloody Scooby, they just let me hang around ‘cause I take care of the Nibblet. I still get threatened. Only Dawn and Tara treat me decently. Xander’s tried to run me off a few times, but the Bit refuses to do her homework for anyone ‘cept me. I’m here ‘til I’m dust.”

“Wow…You would have to be blind not to see that you’ve changed.”

“How would you know?” he spat, “You weren’t here, you don’t know how it was. You said you weren’t here to replace her so what are you even doin’ here?”

The slayer ignored his outburst and replied, “Wesley and I needed to do a little research. I was actually wondering if you could set up a meeting between Tara and I. Could you give her a note for me?” she asked, reaching into her pocket.

“Why would I do that?”

“Please, Spike,” she said genuinely.

“Well… right then. You are one weird bird,” he said. No one _asked_ him to do anything, they just demanded, it wasn’t like he’d tell them no, but it was nice to be asked.

“And tell Dawn I said hi.”

Bloody weird.

*

Giles had given the entire Scooby gang keys to the Magic Box ages ago when they had been dealing with Glory. The Magic Box made a good “home base” but only if everyone on your team could get in.

Willow wasn’t sure this was what he had had in mind though. It was way too late, but someone was _always_ at the Magic Box, and that silly Wesley seemed to be permanently camped out here recently, finding a time when she could be alone here wasn’t easy.

She had come in the back and locked the door behind her. She left the lights off too, no sense in attracting unwanted attention. Once she reached the basement steps, a small spell lit her way. There was a not-so-secret secret room in the back while Giles and Anya hid some of the darker texts.

The lock on the room opened easily for her, just another small spell. Tara was always complaining about how she used spells for everything these days, and why shouldn’t she? It was easy and it took no effort.

Once inside the room, she admired the shelves of books, all waiting for her. She breathed in deeply, smelling the sweet scent of paper, leather, glue, and a hint of magic. Willow ran her hands along the spines, her magic tingled at some of them, and those were the ones she pulled. Her magic knew what she needed, even if she herself wasn’t sure.

She went through the books she’d selected, one by one, and it was more than the knowledge the books held, it was like each book was a battery, powering up her magic. With each one she felt stronger. Why had she been so afraid of this? She had been so silly.

There was so much power here, why wouldn’t she take it? Why hadn’t she realized how easy this was? Everything seemed so obvious now, like a puzzle that had once seemed impossible, she could see all the pieces and how they fit together, the buttons and strings that held people together.

Sure, she’d been able to nudge Tara here and there, make her forget, influence her a little… but now? Manipulating Xander and Anya would be easy too. It had been _their_ weakness, and _their_ doubts that had kept the original resurrection spell from working.

But she could fix that now. She could just wipe away their fears, make them see she was right, that this was for the better good.

It would be easy.


	8. Chapter 8

There was a knock at the door, which surprised him, who knew they were living here? Wesley grabbed a sword from a closet, just in case, and strode towards the door. The knock was repeated, and he looked out the peep hole.

“Spike?” he asked as he opened the door.

“Watcher,” the vampire said with a nod.

“Can I help you with something?”

“Other way round, I guess, Anya said you were looking for this,” he said and held up a lofty tome on the history of slayers.

Wesley scowled, “We were looking for that yesterday, it seemed to have disappeared form the Magic Box’s inventory.”

“Just doin' a lil’ reading,” Spike said with a shrug and peered around him, trying to look in, “So you gonna invite me in or not?”

“And why would I do that?”

Spike held up the book, “You want it or not?”

“Come in, Spike. You do know I’m just going to revoke your invitation once you leave, right?”

The vampire shrugged, shouldered past him and headed into the dining room where Wesley had been working.

“Excuse me,” Wesley said, rushing after him, trying to stop him from seeing too much, not that it did him much good. Spike was riffling through things by the time he got to the vampire.

“Can you please leave that be?” Wesley asked, exacerbated. Spike lifted an eyebrow, as if to say, ‘do you want to stop me?’

“So what’re you and the new slayer doing here? You could be doing research from anywhere. Makes no sense why you gotta do it here.”

Wesley snatched the papers Spike had taken out of his hands, “We’re here to get the Hellmouth under control and while we do that, we’re utilizing the Magic Box’s resources. It just made sense to do both at the same time.”

“And all the books and junk about slayer prophecies?”

“Leave,” Wesley ordered.

“What’s special ‘bout this slayer? She’s good, too good even and too old. Slayers don’t get called at her age. Something doesn’t add up.”

“Leave, now,” the Watcher said and stood, his back straight, the sword still in his hand. Spike smirked and looked down at the sword, and back up to meet his eyes.

“You think you could take me, Watcher?”

“I think you have a chip that prevents you from fighting back.”

The phone rang, but neither man moved.

“I think you would be surprised at what I could accomplish, even with the chip.”

“Are you threatening me?” Wesley asked, his heart racing.

“Course not, I’m a white hat now, or close enough. But if there is something going on, it better not impact Dawn. I will take down anything or _anybody_ who might hurt the ‘Bit.”

“Get out.”

“‘course,” Spike said, and turned back to the door.

The phone rang again. Whoever it was wasn’t going to give up.

“Yes!?”

“Wesley, it’s Giles. Is everything all right?”

“Things are fine, just annoying vampires…Giles, what time is it in London? 5 AM? Why are you calling so early?”

“Or so late, I’ve been following a trail of references to a scroll I found in the Council basement that foretells the end of the slayer line when a former slayer is resurrected.”

Wesley sank into the chair like a brick, “Does this mean… no more slayers? Eleanor is the last slayer to be called?”

There was a rustling of papers, “I can’t tell, since she… Eleanor... isn’t herself... The translation is very loose at this point. The text is, well, frankly, very ancient. There were some reference materials and it’s only been half translated… I just don’t know.”

“This could be… if there are no more slayers…”

“I know… I’ll send you what I have and perhaps you can make better sense of it than I. You were always better with languages.”

“Should I tell Eleanor?”

“No, not yet. I imagine she has enough to deal with at the moment.”

“The meeting did not go well,” Wesley confessed.

“I didn’t expect it to. Is she handling it?”

“Aside from an overwhelming desire to kill everything on the Hellmouth, yes. Ironic that one normally cautions the young to not use aggression as a means to dealing with problems.”

“An unusual situation. Is Anya being helpful in providing texts?”

“Anya is most helpful, I’m going by tomorrow to pick up some additional materials. She does want me to remind you the texts are there to be sold. The Magic Box is not a library.”

Giles laughed, “Yes, well… be that as it may… like I said before, this is an unusual situation. Let me know what you make of the texts I send.”

“Of course. I’ll be in touch.”

Wesley took off his glasses to rub at his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping well and he didn’t like keeping secrets. Last night he wondered if any of Buffy’s friends would be able to put two and two together if they knew Eleanor was a former slayer. If Spike’s actions tonight told him anything, it would be that vampire who would figure it out.

*

“So, what did Giles find?” Eleanor asked the next day on their way to the Magic Box.

“He uh, might have found a prophecy about a resurrected slayer, so we want to find out as much as possible so we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Does that even apply to me then?”

Wesley frowned, “What do you mean?”

The slayer shrugged, “Aren’t I reincarnated? Not resurrected? I thought there was a difference.”

His jaw fell open and he wrapped his arms around the girl, “Genius! You are quite right! A very big difference! Now, once Giles sends a copy of the prophecy we’ll need to verify which it is, because you are right, there is a difference.”

Eleanor sighed deeply, “Your reaction tells me that the prophecy is very much not of the good.”

“We need to finish translating it, but that means more research!”

“Yay… more research,” she deadpanned as they walked into the magic store.

“Welcome!” Anya said cheerfully, but her smile dropped when she saw who it was, “Oh, you two. I set those books you asked for in the backroom, I think Willow is back there.”

“Excellent, thank you Anya.”

“You should be paying me money for this… like a usage fee. Time and services fee. Something.”

“Uh, of course, perhaps you should talk to Giles about that,” Wesley said and kept walking, trying to avoid further conversation. They headed into the back where Buffy used to train, where now, from the look of things, they were storing things.

Willow was at the table back there, pouring over books of her own. At the sound of their footsteps, the young witch popped her head up, “What are you doing here?”

“Research,” Eleanor says, “What about you?”

“Research as well,” Willow said and started shoveling books into her bag, “but if I can help you anyway, let me know.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Wesley said.

“Because the sooner the two of you finish, the sooner you can go.”

Wesley frowned and chanced a glance over at Eleanor who seemed to be _surprisingly_ unaffected.

“Yes well, we won’t be here much longer.”

Willow got up from the table, “I need to get to class, but I can come back to help if you need.”

“That would be much appreciated,” Wesley said, “I believe we’ll be here awhile.”

The witch nodded and started for the door, but stopped when she was shoulder to shoulder with Eleanor and whispered something before leaving. Whatever Willow said, Eleanor did not react, she didn’t even look at the other girl, but her jaw tensed and Wesley saw her hands become fists.

“Eleanor,” Wesley said, walking towards his slayer, “what did Willow say?”

“We don’t need you here. We don’t want you here.”

*

The Scooby Gang was enjoying their Friday night at the Bronze. It had been awhile since the entire group of them had relaxed together, so when Spike had showed up that night, they’d let him watch Dawn while they went out.

A band was up on stage, and while they weren’t great, they weren’t too bad either. They were no Dingoes, but…

Willow played with her straw, her drink was mostly ice at this point, but she was hoping one of the others would offer to get a refill for her, but none of them had gotten the hint yet.

“Maybe we should have invited Eleanor,” Anya said, “She and Wesley are at the store all the time. It’s like having Giles hovering around all over again.”

“No,” Willow said, “No Eleanor.”

Anya sighed loudly, and nudged Xander.

“Maybe she’s got a point, Will. I mean, she doesn’t seem too bad, it wouldn’t hurt to make with the nice.”

“Yeah, and what happens if one of you says the wrong thing at the wrong time? What if they’re only here to spy on us? Maybe they know what we’re trying to do.”

“I doubt it,” Anya said, “They just seem to be looking up slayer prophecies, and there are literally thousands of those.”

“Maybe we should tell them? I mean, it d-didn’t work anyway.”

“No,” Willow said again, annoyed at having to repeat herself, “There’s a solar eclipse happening in two weeks, we can try again then.”

“Is that a good idea? I mean, we tried once already and even that felt wrong. It just seems like we shouldn’t be messing with this stuff and the things that happened last time… maybe the spell not working is actually a good thing,” Xander said to Willow, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Rage and magic burned in her.

“I agree,” Anya piped in, “I’ve seen the sort of damage that can arise from raising the dead from my time as a vengeance demon.”

“Anya,” Willow said, and the other girl made eye contact, “We are all tired of hearing about your days as a vengeance demon, don’t mention it again.” Power surged through her and into the former demon.

“Of course, Willow,” she said, her voice flat.

Xander stood, and glared, “Willow, that wasn’t-”

Willow pushed the magic at her friend, who seemed to hesitate and falter, then sat back down.

Tara looked at her, alarmed, “Willow, what did you just do? Are you using magic?”

She ran a hand through her girlfriend’s hair, “No baby, everything is alright, yeah?”

“Yeah...”

The group was silent then, but at least there was no more talk of Eleanor or telling the Watcher about the spell.

She pushed back from the table, she needed a refill on her drink.

‘ _That was easier than I thought it’d be_ ,’ Willow remarked. It was like that time she cast the ‘will be done spell’, except without all those unintended consequences.

“Coke, please,” she asked the bartender, who filled her glass back up.

“That’ll be $2,” he said.

Willow smiled, “I think it’s free.”

The man shook his head in confusion, “Uh, yeah, of course.”

A man down the bar laughed, “Powerful little girl aren’t you?” He was thin with black hair and dark eyes. He was dressed all in black too, but his skin had an unhealthy yellow look to it, like he was sick, or strung out.

“I’d be careful who you call little,” she warned.

He handed her a card, “I know where witches like you can get more power. There’s a warlock named Rack you should meet.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to JewelsP and kasumi for beta’ing, any remaining mistakes are mine.

Spike was hanging out at 1630 Revello Drive waiting for Dawn to get home from school. He had his trusty zippo lighter out and was flicking it on and then flipping the lid back down. He didn’t have a cigarette out and had no intentions of lighting one, but the steady on and off of the flame was an outlet for his nervous energy. If it had been dark, and if he wasn’t supposed to be looking out for Dawn, he would have gone out looking for a fight, but he didn’t have that option, not yet.

He could see all the pieces of the puzzle in front of him, but they didn’t make sense, not yet. The new slayer bothered him in ways he couldn’t explain, and he wondered how much of it was real, and how much of it was just him projecting. His vampire sense always warned him when a slayer was around, a steady buzz in the back of his head, but each slayer gave him a slightly different feeling. The buzz Eleanor gave him, was familiar.

Something was going on with the that girl though, he could feel it in his bones.

Dawn burst into the room, the Buffy Bot trailing behind her. Spike gave them a nod of acknowledgement, “Hey, Nibblet.”

“Hey,” the teenager responded and dumped her book bag down at the door, “I have this stupid paper on Shakespeare, do you think you could help me with it tonight?”

“’Course,” he answered and slipped his lighter back into his pocket.

“I-I-I c-can help too! M-m-marzipan!” the Bot said, twitching.

Dawn shook her head, “Willow still can’t get her working right again. If this is how she is, I think we should just leave her off.”

“Yeah,” Spike said without enthusiasm. He was tired, he felt worse than he had in weeks. The Buffy Bot gave him the creeps, because it wasn’t what it looked like… The new slayer sent off the same warning bell.

“Buffy,” Dawn said to the Bot, “Why don’t you go lay down?”

“A g-g-good slayer is a rested s-s-slayer-r-r.” Dawn rolled her eyes as the machine walked away. Willow had promised to fix it weeks ago, but she never seemed to have the time anymore. No time to fix the Buffy Bot, and no time for her either. She was glad Spike was around, at least _someone_ was here to help her with homework.

“I uh, saw Eleanor the other night, she says hello.”

“I think I like her,” Dawn said as she rummaged through her bag, taking out her homework.

“Yeah? You were pretty sure you didn’t like her before.”

“She’s not so bad. She’s actually kinda cool and really mature. I’m not sure why everyone else hates her.”

“You hated her last time we spoke,” Spike reminded her.

“Well, yeah. But I didn’t know her yet. Eleanor is alright. Maybe she could come over and have dinner with us sometime? I think she’s lonely,” Dawn said as she laid her work out on the kitchen table.

Spike followed behind her and said, “I’m not sure that’s a great idea. The others… might not be worth making trouble.”

“A) when did you ever care about making trouble and B) I totally made trouble so _you_ could be around, why couldn’t I do the same for her? If I wanted to. Willow is not my mom, and you know Tara wouldn’t care.”

“Maybe. We’ll have to find a night when Willow and Xander aren’t around. Start off easy, yeah?”

*

Later, when Tara got home from class, Spike left Dawn in her care. His mind had been churning all day and… well, not a plan, but a course of action began to form in his mind. Something was going on, and he intended to figure out what it was.

He made his way from Revello Drive to Eleanor’s place. He knew Wesley wasn’t in, he’d seen the wanker earlier in the day at the Magic Box, which meant it was just the girl at home. He found a vantage point behind a tomb overlooking the place and lit a cigarette while he watched and waited.

He didn’t have to wait very long before he saw the girl walk out the back door. Eleanor’s hair was tied up in a ponytail and she looked like she was planning on making the rounds of the graveyards. It would give him plenty of time to get in and get out… provided the Watcher hadn’t remembered to revoke his invite from the night before.

Once the girl was out of sight, he glided down to the house and found the back door locked. He reached his hand into his duster pocket and removed his lock picking tools and made short work of the door. With a twist, the door opened and Spike pushed his hand against it, and found no resistance.

He slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He went to the dining room, having seen where the Watcher had been camped out with his notes and books last night.  Stacks of books remained on the table, but the copious piles of notes were gone, most likely with the Watcher.

A yellow paper pad had been left though and titling it back and forth in the moonlight, Spike could see the indentations in the paper. He scanned the room and found a lead pencil being used as a bookmark and snatched it out.

Lightly, he rubbed the pencil over the paper, revealing a jumbled mess of words, most of which were unreadable, but at the bottom, one word stood out. Wesley must have written the word with more pressure than he had the others- _resurrection_.

It sent chills down Spike’s back and one hand idly smoothed his hair over his head.

The Watcher had been looking for books on slayer prophecies… was he here to raise Buffy? Is that why they were here? He didn’t think a straight laced guy like Wesley would mess with dark magic like that, but it almost explained what they were doing here.

Except, why would the Council want to resurrect Buffy? They had a new slayer, and if the few interactions he’d had with her, she was a damned good one too… with the makings of being even more.

He ripped the top page off the yellow pad and shoved it in his duster pocket and took a deep breath. Under the normal smells, he could smell the scent of a slayer. He followed the scent up the stairs and down the hall to where it was the heaviest.

At the end of the hall, the last door was closed, but it opened with a turn of the knob, opening to the girl’s bedroom.

It was mostly empty, a few things scattered on her dresser and nightstand. The closet door was open and she had a few things in there. On the bed, was a stuffed pig and he shook his head, “What is it with slayers and stuffed pigs?”

He opened the drawers to her dresser, rifled through them, unsure of what he was really looking for. When he came across her underwear drawer, he nicked a pair of lacy red panties, not because he liked her or anything, _just a little slayer trophy,_ he told himself.

Spike scanned the items on top of the dresser: cheap jewelry, makeup, and a few Jane Austen novels. Nothing nefarious there. He sat on her bed and opened her nightstand and found a black leather hardback notebook.

For a moment, he considered not reading the girl’s diary, but then remembered, even though he was chipped, he was still evil.

It didn’t take him long to wonder if the girl was losing her mind. Pages were filled with, “who am I?”, “who was I?”, “am I even real?”, and “why do I know all of these things?” Chit might be crazier than Dru. She hadn’t seemed like a bag of hammer when he’d talked to her, but she must be good at compartmentalizing things if this is what she was writing about.

He flipped through it, other entries popping out at him:

_…I had that dream again, you know the one. This time he stopped it because he figured out her weakness before the rest of us…_

_…The dream was difference this time, he was still there but we were in a graveyard, backs against each other, tearing through a demon horde. It got me excited, and although I tried to hide it, he knew, and I knew he knew…._

_…Last night in the dream he told me to go talk to Dawn, and he was totally right…_

_…The dreams have completely changed, instead I’m happy in them. Is it sad that the best part of my days are these dreams? I wish these dreams were real, or at least the relationship we have in the dreams could be real…_

Spike closed his eyes and tossed the journal back into the drawer. Nothing about resurrecting Buffy, so either she wasn’t in on Wesley’s plan, or she was smart enough not to write it down. So much of her journal was so vague, like she expected someone to go snooping. Surely Eleanor hadn’t expected him, so it had to be because she expected Wesley to read it.

_Watcher and slayer are keeping secrets from one another._

It was odd though, Eleanor’s journal bothered him more than what Wesley may or may not be up to. The entry in particular about her needed to go see Dawn felt eerily similar to a dream he had the other night about Buffy.

He twisted his legs, and stretched out on the girl’s bed, and breathed in her scent, it was a heady smell. It reminded him of Buffy, her room didn’t smell like her as much as it used to. He had suggested, weeks back, that maybe they pack up some of the room. Buffy wasn’t coming back, he had argued, and it wasn’t a good idea to have an eternal memorial to her. It wasn’t healthy, for Dawn. Nor him, but he hadn’t said that.

Willow had threatened him, told him he was to keep his hands off of Buffy’s stuff.

If Wesley did raise Buffy, her room would be as she left it.

Did he want Buffy back? Of course, without a doubt, but raising the dead was wrong. And sometimes, in trying to keep someone with you, you ruined who they were… like he had done to his mum.

Buffy would not be the same, even if they did bring her back. He would love her, no matter what, but sometimes you had to make difficult choices when you loved someone. If she came back right, she wouldn’t be the same… and if she came back wrong…

*

Wesley had let her skip out on research this morning when he had heard her come in late (or very early, depending on how you looked at it). Some vamps had teamed up with a Fyarl demon and the resulting battle had left her a little worse for wear.

‘ _Thank God for slayer healing_ ,’ she thought to herself as she got comfortable on the couch. She wished she could turn on the TV and veg out, but there was no TV. Wesley had insisted that they were in Sunnydale to work, which meant no TV.

Cruel and unusual… but maybe he was right? Not that she would ever tell him that. So, instead of watching TV, she had brought _Sense and Sensibility_ downstairs with her. Wesley said he had read it to her while she was in the hospital, but she had been in a coma at the time.

It was late in the afternoon when there was a knock on the door. It was still daylight out, and Wesley had a key, so… the slayer wrenched herself up to answer it.

“Tara!” she said and greeted the girl with a smile, “Come in.”

“Thanks. I uh… Spike gave me your note… I know you w-wanted to see me, but you didn’t say why.”

“It’s kinda a long story,” the slayer said, and led her back into the living room to sit. The room was quiet, there were no distractions from a TV or radio, and the lights were all off, so the only light was from the big windows on the front of the house. It was serene.

“Well, I have some time.”

“Until recently, I was in a coma. I was in a car crash when I was 13, and it wasn’t until I was Called, that I woke up. Since I’ve woken up, I’ve felt confused about who I am. I’m Eleanor, but I don’t think I am. I don’t feel like the same person. I know you can read auras and I know you were the only one who noticed when Faith took over Buffy’s body… Can you read my aura and tell me if I’m possessing Eleanor? I think… I don’t think she’s in here,” she said and touched her chest, “A part of me believes that she died in that car crash, even if her body was still alive, but…”

Tara put a hand on her knee, “I don’t know that I can tell you _who_ you are. I look at you now and it doesn’t look like the body is being possessed, but I c-can look deeper, i-if you want.”

“Anything you can tell me would be helpful. I have two sets of memories and neither of them feel like they're mine. I feel disconnected from everything, nothing in my life feels like it belongs to me. I think I used to feel things fiercely, but now…”

“I… I need a few things. I always carry incense, but I need four white candles and some salt.”

The slayer stood up, “I’m pretty sure Wesley has candles, and there’s salt in the kitchen, I’ll be right back.”

Tara nodded and reached into her bag.

She went into the dining room where her Watcher had a box of magic-y items, and found the candles. Her heart was pounding. Tara knew Buffy, she’s seen Buffy’s aura.

 _This is happening. I could know… I could know…_ she felt anxious and nauseous. With a deep breath she grabbed the salt off the kitchen table and went back into the living room where Tara sat cross legged on the floor.

She handed the items off to the other girl who gave a small thanks. The slayer watched as she lit the candles and stationed them in front of her, behind her, and to her left and right. She then used the salt to draw a circle around her, connecting the candles.

“Sit in front of me,” Tara ordered and took her hands, “This may take a while, just breathe deeply, and try to be patient, okay? I’m going to meditate, so it’s important to be quiet.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

Tara’s eyes closed and she breathed in and out. The slayer watched the other girl and found herself feeling relaxed, the nervousness she was feeling moments ago lifted away. She closed her eyes.

She thought about Dawn, the friends who weren’t her friends anymore, her Watchers, and Spike. Tara had to tell her that she was Buffy. It was just… if she wasn’t, who was she? Was she anyone? Was she just a ghost? She didn’t feel real. Nothing felt real. Something was missing. She was missing a piece of herself.

Would knowing her identity make her feel better? Would anything?

Tara snatched her hands away and the slayer opened her eyes. It was dark outside and the candles had burned low. How long had it been? She looked back at the other girl, who was staring at her and frowning.

“Well?” she finally asked.

“You aren’t the original soul, b-but it… i-it’s strange, the body is still yours, you aren’t possessing it.”

“Eleanor is gone?”

“You…you said you thought Eleanor d-died in that car crash, and I th-think you’re right. Don’t feel bad about taking over, it wasn’t like you kicked her out,” Tara consoled her softly.

“Do you think… Do you think that means the most recent set of memories are mine? That’s who I am?” the slayer asked, her voice choking with emotion.

“I can’t tell you who you are. I would say you’re pr-probably right, but to say for sure? I can’t do that… but… well…”

The slayer nodded and squeezed Tara’s hand, “Thank you. I know the others don’t care much for me, but it means a lot for you to do this.”

“No problem. I just… who do you think you are? Because your aura looks… it looks just…”she stopped then, her hand went over her mouth, stifling a cry.

She looked up wearily at the witch, “You can say it.”

“Buffy?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you’ll all enjoy these next few chapters. Finally, thanks once again to JewelsP and kasumi for beta’ing, any remaining mistakes are mine.

‘ _I am Buffy. I am Buffy_ ,’ she repeated to herself as she walked to Sunnydale Cemetery. Tara said there was no way to know for sure, but it there was just too much evidence for it not to be true. She had asked Tara to keep it to herself for now.

The witch hadn’t liked that, and pressed the slayer to tell the others, but… what if? What if she was wrong? And how would they react if she did tell them? They didn’t want her here… would that change if she told them she was pretty sure she was Buffy?

She kicked a rock along, wishing things were simpler and made her way along the paths to the plot in the cemetery she was looking for.

Joyce. Buffy.

She smiled and sat down at the graves. There were dried flower laid at both headstones, and she wondered who was leaving those. ‘ _Spike_ ,’ her mind supplied. There was also…

She stood and went over to _her_ grave, it only said ‘Summers’ on it, but it was hers. Another part of the Scoobies’ ploys to keep her death a secret. She noticed pools of melted wax and a ring of salt. Witchcraft. Someone had been to her grave and had tried something. She would have to tell Wesley when she got home, but for now, she needed some time with her mom.

“Hey, Mom. I’m not sure if you’ve been expected me to show up in heaven or not, what with the dying and all. It looks like I’ve got another term down here, but I’m still the slayer, and you know how long we last. It doesn’t seem fair, does it?” she laughed and pulled her knees up to her chest.

“It’s different this time though, I don’t have the… connections that I used to, the people there supporting me. Wesley is great and all… but I feel so alone. I fight and I’m good at it, like I was made for it, and sometimes I wonder if the Powers made this body just for that, but… before it was about saving the world for the people I loved, dying for the people I loved… and while I love them, they don’t love me… at least, not like this.”

“I wish you were here and could tell me what to do. You always seemed to know the right thing to say, and when the right thing to say was nothing at all. Sometimes I didn’t need words, and you could tell the difference… when hot cocoa was what I needed most…” she started to choke on her tears, “I miss my mom.”

Buffy laid her head down and let herself cry, full out, body shaking cry, for the first time since she came back. When she was finished, she felt exhausted, but better. She had needed that. She sat there for a long time, feeling closer to her mom than she had before. A part of her thought maybe something of her mom was there with her now, there was just a hint of her perfume on the air.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Whatcha doin here?”

Buffy’s head shot up, and she saw Spike standing there in his black leather duster.

She smiled, the vampire always seemed to show up when she was at her worst, “I’m looking for answers.”

“The dead don’t talk back, pet.”

“I guess not. Perhaps the undead will talk then… tell me why you loved her.”

“What?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, “Who told you that?”

“No one had to tell me, I can see it on your face. Tell me about her.”

For a moment, she thought Spike was going to bolt, but then he sat down, his back against a grave marker.  He reached into his leather jacket’s pocket and pulled out a half crumbled package of cigarettes. He fumbled with the package, twisting it back and forth in his hands, tapping it against his knee. Then finally, he removed one smoke before thrusting the package back into the duster. His hands trembled as the lit the cigarette. He took a deep draw off the cigarette, then another.

“She was special,” he finally said, “Beautiful and deadly. I was never a very good vampire, even from the beginning… I still cared, some spark that shoulda left, never did. God knows Angelus tried to beat it out of me. At first, the thing with Buffy… I was just fascinated with her. She was interesting and intriguing, I thought all I wanted was to kill her, but I didn’t, I didn’t want to kill her.”

“I tried to justify it at first, with the chip I couldn’t kill her, so maybe I just wanted to keep her safe until I _could_ kill her. I tried lying to myself but I couldn’t keep denying it. Something about her got under my skin. I hid how I felt but the Bit figured it out and blabbed to big sis. Buffy was horrified at first… we… we were never friends, but allies there at the end. I tried to prove myself to her and it didn’t always go well. I don’t think she really believed I love her, which is the worst part of it. The love of your life dies and they don’t even believe your love is real.”

Spike turned his head, not wanting her to see the tears in his eyes, but Buffy saw them anyway.

“Still love’s bitch?”

“Yeah…love’s a bitch.”

“Do you think, would you have still loved her even if something had happened to her? If she wasn’t pretty anymore? If she didn’t look the same?”

“I would’ve loved Buffy no matter what she looked like. She wasn’t just beautiful, but strong. Life kept crapping on her and she just kept going, you couldn’t keep her down. So full of life, so alive. I always admired that about her. I think a small part of me has loved her since I first saw her, dancing at the Bronze in that tiny blue top,” Spike smiled at the memory.

“But she didn’t love me, couldn’t love a soulless monster. She needed me, depended on me, but she would have never loved me.”

“Maybe, maybe not. A part of me believes that real love and passion have to go hand in hand with pain and fighting,” the slayer said.

“If that were true, Buffy and I woulda been bloody made for each other.”

‘ _Maybe you were_.’

“I think Shakespeare wrote about that. _Romeo and Juliet,_ dueling families, or in this case species.”

“Well, it didn’t end well for them either. It was my fault she died. I promised to protect Dawn and I failed. Buffy jumped because I failed. It’s my fault Buffy is dead. I couldn’t save her. Every night I save her, a dozen different ways, but when it counted, when it mattered, I failed. I can never make up for that.”

“It’s not your fault Spike. Buffy didn’t die because of you, she died because of Glory. Buffy knew what she was doing. She couldn’t let you or Dawn die for her. Stopping it was her duty.”

“Dawn?”

“Dawn tried to be the one… to… but Buffy told her no. She jumped, because she couldn’t bear to have anything happen to Dawn.”

“Nibblet never said,” he said, shocked.

“You’ll protect her, always, right? That’s what you promised.”

“Until the end of the world.”

She smiled, although it was more of a frown, “Even if…”

 _“…it’s tonight_ ,’ she thought.

“Even if it’s tonight,” Spike said aloud and took a long, final draw from his cigarette.

They lapsed into silence and Buffy tilted her head back and looked up at the stars. From the corner or her eye, she saw Spike go for another smoke. It was unfair, asking him about her, without telling him who she was, or at least who she _thought_ she was.

It wasn’t fair to him, but when was she ever fair? She was cruel and self-centered. She came back here, not because any of her friends needed her, but because she needed them… and now she wondered if they would be better off without her.

“Do you want to go kill something? I feel like I need a good slay.”

“Sounds like a bit of alright,” Spike agreed.

She stood and offered the vampire her hand to help him up. For a moment, he looked at it like this might be a trick, but finally he took her hand and she pulled him up.

“Hopefully the baddies are accommodating tonight.”

“Yeah, well, just don’t be taking all the action for yourself,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I can share,” she said with a smile and a wink. They meandered down the path. After a while Spike nudged her and with a tilt of his head indicated a crypt ahead of them and mouthed, ‘Nest’.

The slayer smiled and pulled out a stake from her jacket pocket. She pointed at him and mouthed, ‘You want to lead?’

He nodded, went into game face and busted into the crypt, catching the occupants unaware. A few fledglings tried to make a break for it, but Buffy was there and took two of them out quickly. The third threw her into the crypt where two others grabbed her.

The third was making his way towards her, when he crumbled into nothing, Spike standing behind him, stake in hand. She flipped backwards, bringing the two who had ahold of her down in a tumble of limbs. She rolled from the mess, and was quickly on her feet, meeting the two vamps with a stake as they stood.

She turned, looking for Spike. He was throwing punches at a big one, who was older than the others. The big guy rammed Spike into the wall and was pummeling him with gut punches when Buffy finally vaulted towards them.

Stake in hand, she went for the kill, but the baddie felt her coming and threw her hard. It knocked the wind out of her, and for an instant she was dazed. Shaking it off, she raced back at him, and this time, when he tried to fling her away, she ducked and he missed.

She smiled, and plunged the stake into his back.

Spike coughed, “I had him you know.”

“Sure,” she said, and gave him a hand up.

“Shoulda known you wouldn’t share, slayers are all the same.”

“Yeah, see vampire, kill vampire. It’s in the manual.”

Spike breathed in deeply and cocked an eyebrow, “Yeah? What else is in the manual? They tell you what to do with all that pent up energy slaying gives you?”

She was aroused and he could tell. She blushed and turned away, but he grabbed her arm and shoved her against the crypt wall. She froze and he was suddenly in her space, his face at her neck, and he was _smelling_ her.

“I don’t think they cover that,” she whispered.

He looked up at her, his clear blue eyes searching for something… permission? He closed his eyes then and lowered his lips to hers. His kiss was tentative at first, as if he expected her to push him away. Instead she wrapped her arms around him, pulled him closer and parted her lips. He slid his tongue inside her mouth, moaning.

She could feel how hard he was against her stomach, and she pushed against him, seeking friction, movement, anything. He growled and the kiss turned frenzied, as if they couldn’t get enough of one another.

“Buffy,” he groaned, and ice water filled her veins. _He knows?_

Spike jerked away from her like he’d be burnt, “Fuck.” He turned away and she slid down the wall, her heart hammering in her chest. Her lungs hurt, and she realized  her breathing was panicky.

“‘m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s fine,” she said, as she willed her heart to slow down. He didn’t know.

“Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’m not hurt,” she said, confused.

“Not, physically… I mean…”

“I know. It’s fine. You love Buffy. I’m happy she means that much to you, even now. No one can replace Buffy.”

“You’re a decent bint. You deserve someone decent. You shouldn’t be here with me, doing this.”

“I dunno I think you’re pretty decent, and I liked what we were just doing. All of it, the fighting and the uh… other bit.”

Spike looked up at her then, and she smiled softly. How had she never noticed how gorgeous he was before? She moved toward him and he froze, his eyes wide. She kissed his cheek and then his lips. He didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away either.

“Not a good idea, pet,” he said, but it sounded strangled, like he was arguing with himself.

“You need someone who will love you,” she told him, “I was on the other side of unrequited love, it only seems fair to be on this side of it now.”

“You don’ love me, nobody bloody loves me.”

“Maybe I don’t, but I think I could and I _know_ Dawn loves you. You are loveable, William.”

“Anything between us wouldn’t mean anything to me, I’d just be using you,” Spike warned.

“If you didn’t care about me, at least a little, you wouldn’t try to warn me off,” she said and smiled.

Spike frowned, and he seemed to be thinking of an argument to that, but she kissed him, and this time, he kissed back.

It felt so right, to have his lips on hers, to have his hands traveling down her back and over her ass, to have him pulling her body into his. As confused as she had been these last few months, this right now, made more sense than anything else, and it should’ve made the least amount of sense. When had she fallen in love with the blond soulless wonder? When had she _stopped_ thinking about that other vampire? Somewhere along the line, something changed. Or maybe, nothing changed... maybe this was here all along, and all the noise and distractions that had been there before were gone. It was like she’d cleaned the windows and finally, the light was shining through.

Buffy had been infatuated with Angel, seen him as her one true love. Since she’d woken up in Eleanor’s body though, she’d seen things differently. Her relationship with Angel hadn’t been healthy, it had been obsessive. The things that she had looked past and forgiven him for! Angel had been controlling and manipulative, offering her only tidbits of information when he could have been open and honest. Angel had always had a second agenda. Spike on the other hand…

She let out a breathy little gasp and Spike started to nibble down her neck.

“Maybe, we out to take this someplace else?” she asked, although she really _really_ didn’t want him to stop what he was doing, it was sending delicious little shivers right down her back. He was so close, and she didn’t want to let him go.

“Yeah? And where should we go?”

“Your crypt? Uncle Wesley is going to be at my place.”

Spike wrenched back from her, “Uncle Wesley? He’s not really your uncle, is he?”

She laughed, “No, it’s just a joke we have.”

“Ah. Well, uh… we could go back to my crypt, but it is a crypt.”

“I know, which is why it is so aptly named,” she said with a shake of her head.

“You know, we don’t-”

She placed her hand over his lips, “Stop with that. Let’s go.”

He nodded, she wouldn’t be able to say he hadn’t tried to talk her out of it, god only knew why he’d even tried.


	11. Chapter 11

They walked to his place, hand in hand. When they got to his crypt, Spike let the girl go in first and pulled the door shut behind them.

She followed him, wordlessly, down the hole in the floor to the second level. It was dark down there, but she vaguely remembered the layout of the place.

“Stay put slayer, I’m gonna light some candles,” he told her, and moved around the room, a dozen pin pricks of light brightening up the place. Spike seemed nervous, once he’d finished, and she wondered if, since he hadn’t been able to talk _her_ out of this, if he was trying to talk _himself_ out of it.

“Come here, Spike,” she ordered and he ducked his head, but obeyed. The slayer pulled him into her, their bodies flush against each other and kissed along his jawline, then down his neck. His hands roamed down her body, down her back before resting on her ass. With a small grunt, he lifted her so she could wrap her legs around him.

He turned his head to look at her, his expression solemn, the candlelight casting dark shadows on his face.

“Just feel tonight, William, for me?”

He didn’t answer, but kissed her, and moved them towards the bed. When his legs hit the mattress, he laid her down and climbed on top. Spike’s hands moved down her sides, and slid under her shirt and tugged it up over her head. He tossed it aside and kissed down her neck and chest.

Smiling wickedly, he unsnapped her bra and tossed it away as well, before descending onto her breasts. He licked, and kissed them, just skirting around her nipples, and she gave a little whine of protest. The vampire laughed, but took pity on her, and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, his tongue teasing, he gently scraped his teeth over the tender nub and released it, and then proceeded to do the same to the other nipple.

The girl was putty in his hands, and he knew it. He moved down her stomach, kissing every inch of skin.

“Please,” she said, in a breathy moan and Spike chuckled. He unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and she lifted her hips up so he could pull her pants off the rest of the way.

He kissed along her panty line, teasing her.

“You’re wearing too much.”

“Whose fault is that?” Spike asked, but straightened up so he could shuck off his own shirt.

“A little better.” The slayer sat up, unbuttoned his jeans and slid her hands around the waistband and pushed them down to his knees.

“No underwear?” she asked, as his cock bounced free.

“Never saw the point,” he replied and pushed the jeans  completely free of his legs, “Now who’s wearing too much?”

“Whose fault is that?” she asked, mocking him.

“Definitely my fault,” Spike said, and tore her panties away, remedying the problem. He yanked her close to the edge of the bed, and stepped off.

“What are you doing?” the slayer asked.

He smirked, and got to his knees, so he was on eye level with her pussy, “What does it look like? Wanted a taste first.”

He put his mouth on her, licking tentatively at first, until he got a better sense of what she liked, using her moans to judge it by. Spike thrust his tongue inside of her, fucking her with it, and she raised her hips, trying to get closer. Her body was trembling with need, teetering there on the edge when he moved his mouth to her clit and slid two fingers inside her. She bucked with the force of her orgasm, wrapping her legs around him, even as he tried to pull away.

“You’re a bloody virgin?” he said, angrily and tried to pull away, but her legs were locked around him.

“Fuck. Yes, I am,” she had forgotten that bit.

“Nuh uh. I am not doing this,” he said shoving her off of him. The slayer sat up and grabbed his wrists, surprising him. She laid back, and he tumbled back onto her.

She kissed him, but Spike turned his face away.

“Let go,” he said, his voice cold, so she did.

Spike got off the bed, and pulled his jeans on.

“Why not?”

“You are a bloody virgin. I knew this was a bad idea before, but now it’s a major cock-up. You should be doing this with someone you love.”

“What difference does it make? I want it… I… I want to be with you.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t always get what we want,” he said, throwing the girl’s shirt at her. The slayer made no move to put it on.

“You can pretend, if you want,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“You can pretend I’m Buffy.”

“I’ve had enough pretending with the ‘bot,” he said, aghast at the suggestion.

“You told me I ought to do this with someone I love, so if that’s not enough for you, pretend you love me then,” she argued.

The vampire looked away from her, “You don’t love me.”

“You don’t get to tell me what I do or don’t feel.” He clenched his jaw at that, remembering what he’d said earlier in the night about Buffy not believing he’d loved her.

“You don’t know me,” he said, walking back to the bed. She laid back and patted the spot beside her.

Spike growled but laid down beside her. The slayer kissed his forehead and then lips. He closed his eyes and she kissed down his neck and bit him at the crook of his neck and he moaned. Feeling encouraged, she moved down his chest, covering him with kisses, her hands memorizing every inch of his torso. She flicked her tongue over his nipples, then bit one, hard.

His eyes shot open and he rolled them, so he was on top.

“You want this, yeah?” he asked, shimming back out of his jeans. She nodded.

“Good,” he said and positioned himself at her entrance. She was still sopping wet, from his earlier admirations, and her own need and want.

“You know this is gonna hurt, right?”

“I remember,” she said, and wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him into her.

“Christ, you’re going to kill me,” he said, trying to hold back.

“I trust you, but I’m not glass, I can handle a little pain.”

“Just remember you said that,” Spike said, and in one movement, slid into her, tearing her barrier. She winced, it wasn’t as bad as she remembered, but she had been ready for it, not just in knowing what to expect, but her body was eager to have him inside.

Spike gave her a moment to adjust, then raised an eyebrow as if to ask, ‘Ready?’ She nodded, and he began to thrust into her. His first movements felt sinfully delicious and left her tingling.

He felt wonderful inside of her, long and hard and with every stroke, he hit the right place. She started lifting her hips to meet his. They slid apart and together easily, her juices covering both of them, making a mess.

“Faster,” she said, and Spike complied, his hand sliding down her body, tweaking her nipple. Her own hands were busy as well, moving over his chest and down his back. He leaned down, changing the angle so that her clit rubbed against his body on every stroke. Spike kissed her, his tongue moving over hers. She could taste herself on him, but it didn’t bother her, she moaned into his mouth and bit his tongue gently.

“I’m not the only one who likes biting,” he said with humor.

“Harder, Spike,” she said and used her legs to push him deep into her.

“Bossy little bint. Why don’t I let you take control then?” he said and rotated them, so the slayer was on top.

“Oh yeah,” she said, with a little cry. She reached out and grabbed the headboard to give herself leverage as she pumped up and down on his hard shaft. His hands fondled her breasts, twisting her nipples a little and she tightened on him, her pussy throbbing.

“You gonna come for me? You gonna come on good ol’ Spike? Oh yeah, Slayer, show me what you’ve got,” he ordered and plunged up into the girl’s tight body.

The slayer shivered and tightened, but she wasn’t there, not yet.

Spike sat up, just a little, changing the angle so that he could thrust deeper. The slayer let go of the bedframe, and one of her hands threaded through his hair, and she pulled his hair and pushed down hard on him.

“Naughty girl, aren’t you?” he asked.

The slayer nodded, but closed her eyes and focused on the movement of their bodies. She was hovering on the crest. Spike flipped them again, and moved her legs to his shoulders so he could plow into her tight little quim. The new position was enough, and she felt herself peak, and orgasmed around his cock, her juices running down her thighs. Spike followed behind her, emptying his seed into her and fell boneless beside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter and not a lot of plot, I know. Next one will have some substance.


End file.
